Snakes and Ladders
by aleson
Summary: She saved his life. In exchange, he irreversibly twisted hers. Bruce/OC
1. Plainsong

This was not the first time.

Sara Price's life had been ruined before.

She should have learned her lesson, but she had been silly enough—audacious enough to forget. She had supposed when she was finally starting to gather the pieces back together, when she was finally settling into the shadows of her old life and making do with her new one, she was stupid enough to believe things just might turn out okay.

She was wrong.

* * *

**_Snakes and Ladders_**  
**Chapter One: Plainsong**

* * *

"Sara, do you think you could cover my shift tomorrow? I have a date," Tina pleaded with her. Sara rolled her eyes, but with good humor. This was the second time in the month so far and it was still only the eleventh.

"Sure." Sara didn't really mind. In fact, she was more than happy to take as many shifts as she could at the courthouse. It was mind-numbingly boring work but it was easy and paid well enough considering the relative ease. All Sara really had to do was file papers, answer phones, send out envelopes, some data entry here and there, reply to e-mails… yeah. Sara hated her job, but it beat waitressing at the Hanging Garden and she needed the money.

"Thank you!" Tina cried ecstatically. Sara smiled at her bubbly coworker. No doubt, Tina would ask Sara to cover a shift at least one more time in the month. Tina was on a constant for 'the one'. Sara was doubtful such a person really existed.

"Just remember to let Hank know beforehand," Sara reminded.

"Psh. When do I ever forget?"

Sara didn't answer. Otherwise, she would have mentioned the time before last time, and another time a little before that.

"You're so great," said Tina. She smiled conspiringly. "Next time you have a date, just let me know and I will cover you for sure."

Sara nearly burst into laughter. Or tears.

She had turned twenty-four just about a month ago and the last time she had gone out on a date was her sophomore year of college. It brought up fond memories when she thought about the time. Sara had had a casual boyfriend in high school, but it was a sweet and innocent relationship which had ended when they parted ways after graduation. Then, during her freshman year of college, she had been overwhelmed with getting into the new beat of college life, juggling her studies and part-time work.

Sophomore year, she had met Austin. He had reminded her a little of her high school boyfriend, but he had the more sophisticated air of a college student. Austin had been so much more mature and they had adult conversations. Sara had really started to like him, but before it ever got serious, her father had a stroke. She dropped out of college. End of story.

Her last date had been with Austin, when she told him she was going back home. Since then, Sara had simply no time or inclination to date. She had been twenty then, so nearly four years ago. Dear god, she felt pathetic. Twenty-four and still a virgin. At this rate, she was probably going to die one. The saddest thing was that she was reasonably attractive, maybe not exactly sexy, but she had soft, pretty blonde hair, fairly regular features, and a slim figure. You really couldn't go wrong from there.

Maybe she would buy a pint of ice cream on the way home. She was feeling very sorry for herself at the moment. She was feeling so sorry for herself she was even considering getting Ben and Jerry's instead of the Safeway brand, but she knew she wouldn't really get the Ben and Jerry's. It was nearly quadruple the price. Still, she thought about it, at least.

"I know what you are thinking and I disapprove," said Tina. The brunette was pursing her lips into a frown.

Sara glanced up distractedly. "What?"

"You are having a one man pity party. Sara, I will make sure you get a date before the year is out," Tina promised enthusiastically. "Trust me, it won't be hard. Robbie has been drooling over you ever since I've started working here and I know if you showed any interest, Evan or Spencer or any of the others would totally be interested."

"I don't have time to date," said Sara, waving her away with her hand.

"Oh, bull, Sara. You can't waste your whole life away working, and I don't want your excuses."

"It's not bull, and they're not excuses," said Sara irritably. "I have a family to support, bills to pay, big ones, might I add. And after that, there's college for Andrew."

"And what about you? This is not your life," said Tina.

"I'll think about that when Andrew graduates from college and my dad gets better," said Sara.

Tina opened her mouth, about to comment further, but one sharp look from Sara silenced her on the topic. Tina sighed and Sara considered once more, maybe she would get the Ben and Jerry's. Phish Food. She hadn't bought ice cream for herself in a while anyway, and Ben and Jerry's Phish Food really was the best.

* * *

Sara had ended up getting Safeway Select Rocky Road, among other things.

"Andrew, I'm home," Sara called as she opened the front door. She pulled out the key and brought the bags of groceries into the kitchen. She went to the living room and frowned. Her little brother was not there. He was usually watching television by this time. Sara walked to his room and carefully opened the door, peeking her head into the darkness.

Andrew was asleep. Sara smiled and quietly made her way inside. She tucked the blankets in and lovingly stroked his hair aside.

This was it, why she had left her old life behind. Her younger brother was only fifteen, an unexpected surprise late into her parents' marriage, a treasure nonetheless. But Andrew had always been a weak and sickly child. He was prone to asthma attacks and had to carry an inhaler on him at all times. After their mother had died in a car accident when Sara was sixteen, her father's health had never been quite the same, and since then, Sara had always been the sort of de facto head of the household.

She had seriously considered going to a college in Gotham, but she had received a neat scholarship to Brown and her father had urged her to go. It was, in hindsight, probably not the best decision she had made in her life. She had been too selfish to observe the signs of her father's diminishing health. If she had noticed earlier, it would have spared them all the trouble. Maybe, if she had stayed and worked to help support their family, her father wouldn't have overworked himself. But there were too many maybes and what-ifs to count. As it was, Louis Price had his first stroke when Sara was away. His second one just the last year had sent him into a coma, in a near-vegetative state leaving him bedridden in the hospital.

She should never have gone to Brown.

Sara sighed and left the room, closing the door behind her. She plopped herself down on the couch after putting away the fruits of her shopping trip and turned on the television. She ate her ice cream straight from the carton with a little dessert spoon and stared mindlessly at the TV screen. Some trashy reality show was playing but Sara didn't bother to change the channel. Her thoughts weren't to the TV anyway.

Tina had been right about one thing.

This was not her life.

Sara had not grown up in the Narrows. Her childhood home hadn't necessarily been in the upper echelons of society, but it had a middle-class respectability, situated far off from the city center. Her friends from high school had all gone off to college, as she had. The only difference was that they had actually graduated and were beginning to settle into their entry-level jobs.

None of them came back to Gotham, except a handful she was never particularly close with. That had been her dream, to find a nice job somewhere in a quieter city, a safer city, making enough money to relocate her brother and father with her.

Aside from Tina at the courthouse, and some of the other waitresses at the Hanging Garden, Sara didn't even really have friends anymore. She couldn't remember the last time she saw her longtime friends from high school and she rarely picked up the phone to keep in touch. Sara knew they didn't like it when she did. She knew they didn't like to be reminded of her existence, her fall from grace. She didn't blame them. She didn't like to be reminded of her old life, either. Instead, she tried to think this was how her life had always been.

This was not her life, and yet it was.

A sudden noise shook her out of her thoughts. She set down the carton and muted the TV. Sara waited. Another loud clashing sound, coming from their little excuse of a backyard. Sara considered for a moment before she decided to get up and see what it was about. She picked up a pan from the kitchen before slowly opening the back door.

She stood outside in the still night air.

Silence, aside from the cricketing of insects.

A sudden movement in the dark had her squinting her eyes hopelessly. She flicked on the light from inside and a horror instantly filled her. Blood pooled in a dark puddle near the gate and before she could make a noise, a hard hand clamped over her mouth. The other hand held her hands together, including the handle of the pan. She didn't dare struggle, but doubted it would be much use if she did. Even from her position, she could feel the powerful muscles encircling her.

And then, the person behind her seemed to lean his body towards her, as if he was unable to stand up on his own. His breaths fell heavily against the side of her face.

Sara's mind whirled.

With all her strength, she pushed her arms out and freed herself from the grip. The pan clattered to the ground and Sara dashed to pick it up. She spun around to face her captor and her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she found she was face to face with _him_. Batman.

The dark crusader was hunching forwards, breathing raggedly. His teeth were clenched and she could spot the beads of sweat tracing down the uncovered portion of his face.

Her eyes widened when she saw what was handicapping Batman in such a manner. Through the thick Kevlar suit, near his abdomen, there was the bloody mess. It looked as though someone had somehow managed to fire a miniature missile at a short range.

It took only an instant for Sara to push him back, inside to the kitchen. He fell to the floor, red splattering the linoleum. Sara shut the door and locked it. She flicked the switch to the light outside and drew the curtains. She stared down at Batman, unsure of what to think or what to do.

He was a murderer and the police were looking for him, but at the same time, Sara could not forget the fact he did save so many people, even if it wasn't within the law. She knew well the corruptions within the justice system and couldn't really blame one for wishing to take matters into their own hands. She did not doubt the people he killed must have been killed for some reason. However, regardless of whether it was deserved or not, it did not change the fact he had killed them and Sara couldn't find it within the trenches of even her own cynical soul to condone cold-blooded murder no matter how justifiable.

It's what it came down to. Murder. He was a murderer.

Batman had crossed the line.

And yet.

She just didn't know what to do.

Batman groaned and fingered his wound, trying to dig something out. While she was contemplating the situation, he had his mind thoroughly occupied with something else, without so much as a glance to her.

Sara frowned. She clamped her thoughts, resolved not to think anymore. Instead, she just did whatever came first naturally. She opened one of the drawers and fished around until she found a pair of pliers. She knelt down next to him.

"You're just pushing it in," she said.

He lifted his head to meet her face for the first time.

Sara felt his twinge of confusion and she imagined underneath the cowl, he was wrinkling his brow. More concerning was the dim haze in his eyes.

"Here, let me," she said, gently pushing his hand away. He let her.

She studied the opening and saw what he was trying to pull out. Within the mess, there was the small tip of a bullet. Sara's eyes flickered to Batman. "Don't make a sound," she said. "My little brother is sleeping."

Sara put a hand on his chest to hold him still and she lowered the pliers.

"Take it out," he growled when she found purchase on the bullet.

Sara pulled. There was a spray of blood and she immediately dropped the pliers to grab a kitchen towel from the countertop. She pressed it against the wound. When she looked up to Batman again, she noticed the strange cloud in his eyes had lifted. Batman took hold of the towel and Sara let go.

She stood up and drew a glass of water from the faucet. She held it in front of him but he made no move to take it. Sara sighed and it put back in the sink.

"Is there anything you need," she said quietly.

Batman was silent for a while before he said, "Thank you."

Sara nodded her head curtly. She turned her back to him.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom. When I come back, you should be gone."

She left and did not turn back to look at him.

In the bathroom, Sara looked at her reflection in the mirror. There were a few specks of blood on her pale face. She turned on the faucet. When she placed her hands underneath it, the water ran red with blood. Batman's blood.

It still seemed so unreal to her, and so she chose not to think about it.

Sara splashed water on her face, washing away his blood and her sweat.

Brown. Batman's eyes were brown.

She turned off the faucet and waited for another few moments before she finally turned back to the kitchen.

He was gone.

Except for the traces of blood on the floor, the lone bullet and the bloody towel, it was as if he had never been there in the first place. Sara picked up the bullet and towel and threw them in the trash. She placed the pliers in the sink, and then she grabbed a thick wad of paper towels and Windex from underneath the sink.

A spray here. A spray there. A few wipes, and the blood was gone.

There.

Another day in the life of Sara Price. A lunch shift at the Hanging Garden, an evening at the courthouse. A little TV, ice cream for dinner, and to make the day complete, aid and abet a wanted criminal. Murderer, to be exact. Who dressed up in a batsuit. He had to be crazy.

Why had she done that?

Sara didn't know how long she sat on the kitchen floor before her train of thoughts were interrupted for the second time that night. This time, there was a pounding at her door. Sara frowned at the loud noise. It would wake up Andrew if it continued any longer. She walked over to see who it was through the peephole when the door flew open.

She screamed.

Two men in black masks rushed in, the door slamming shut behind them. Sara dove towards the phone but she was quickly apprehended by one of the men. He grabbed her by the shoulders and crashed her against the wall. She gasped at the sudden spark of pain, the wind knocked from her chest.

"Where's the Bat?" he snarled.

"I don't… know… what you're… talking about," Sara managed between shallow, gasping breaths. She struggled to move, but the man held her in place. He swiped a hand to the side of her face in response to her answer.

"Fucking tell the truth, bitch."

"I don't know!"

The man threw her to the floor and Sara cried out on impact. Tears squeezed out of her eyes. She had never been in so much pain before, or so much fear.

"The trace is here," she heard the other man say to the first. "He had to have been here."

Sara had no idea what they were talking about. She willed them to just leave already. And she willed Andrew to stay asleep or just stay where he was.

She heard rummaging in the kitchen, and then the sound of her trash getting kicked to the floor. Under heavy lids she saw one of the men kneeling down, digging through the contents of the spill. When he came back up, he lifted the bullet in his hand.

"They fucking took it out," he swore. He threw the bullet down it disgust. A small clink of metal against the floor and the rattling pans when he kicked the cabinet angrily.

The first man who had held her up earlier delivered a swift blow to her ribs. Sara groaned and curled inwards into a fetal position.

"Bitch!" he said. He lifted her head up by her hair and she winced at the sudden pressure to her head.

"Leave her alone!"

All three heads turned to the hallway.

Sara's heart froze.

Andrew stood with a phone in hand. He was white as a sheet and his hands shook, but there was a defiant spark in his eyes and turn of his mouth.

"I called 911. The police should be arriving anytime soon," Andrew said. There was a tremor in his voice, but he lifted his head when he spoke the words. The defiance in his countenance grew stronger and Sara closed her eyes. She had not known her brother could be so bold. She wished she never did.

The man who had picked up the bullet in the kitchen paced to Andrew in a fury. Sara instinctively endeavored to get to him before he did, but the man who had his fingers caught in her hair shoved her harshly to the floor. The carpet cushioned the blow, but she did not feel its relief because of the foot pressing down heavily on her chest. Her mind clouded. She felt in a daze and she struggled to breathe. She thought she heard Andrew cry out in protest.

Sara turned her head. Pain fogged her senses and she dumbly watched the scene unfold. The man who single-mindedly stomped towards Andrew had him now. He took hold of Andrew by the front of his shirt, lifted him in the air, and punched him. Sara woke up. Her protective instinct flared up again, blazing brighter than before.

"Andrew! Andrew!" Sara shrieked. She struggled to lift herself up against the foot, digging her arms into the ground and pushing all her might upwards. The foot came down on her harder and she heard herself gasping, trying to breathe under the crushing pressure over her ribs. Tears streamed down her cheeks in the effort to breathe, but it continued. The gasping, wheezing, breaths falling heavy again and again…

It was not only her.

"Andrew!" Sara screamed. She placed her hands over the foot immobilizing her. "Please, you don't understand. He's having an attack. He needs his inhaler. Please!"

Another splintering pain and black spots danced in her vision. She thought maybe the foot was gone. It was a little easier breathing, but when she tried to move, she found unspeakable heaviness weighing her down. Time slowed down, or maybe it sped up and she went through the motions slower. She wasn't sure. Nothing made any sense.

A body convulsing.

A body going still.

There were loud, shrilling sirens and the echo of a voice over the megaphone, something about surrounding and sides. The specter of blue and red through the white curtains, casting its shades of color across the wall. The pitter patter of shoes as they ran from window to window. But Sara saw nothing. She heard nothing. She was conscious of the fact she was speaking, but she could not think what.

_andrew andrew andrew andrew andrew andrew andrew andrew andrew_

"Shut your whining, bitch."

A cuff to her head.

All went black.

* * *

**A/N**: I wrote it! mwaha. Much faster than I thought I would, but after finishing Chiaroscuro, I really wanted to write Bruce/Batman again but make more of a romance. I was this close to making Sara Selina Kyle, however, no matter how much I wracked my brain, it was too difficult to write in Catwoman to the visions I already had of this story. Anyway, this is darker, more action-heavy, plot-heavy, and romance-heavy than Chiaroscuro, not to mention longer.  
Enjoy! Hopefully I will churn out chapter two soon enough, but I have been writing a lot this week so I will probably have to slow down since I've been neglecting my school work. :)


	2. End

**Snakes and Ladders**_**  
Chapter Two: End**_

_**

* * *

**_

The wound itself was not so bad. The bullet hadn't gotten very far due to the suit, and in any other case, he would have managed perfectly fine, albeit with some pain. The problem was that right after it had broken into skin, it seemed to him a veil had dropped over his mind and eyes. Pain he could handle. Drugs he could not, especially when it was particularly potent and feeding directly into his bloodstream. It numbed his senses and he found it hard to hold onto a single thought. If the wound was painful, he wouldn't have even been able to tell.

Right after he was shot, he had been able to hold onto his mind long enough to make a speedy escape, but it had not taken long for the drugs to overtake his senses. From that point, all he did was stumble around, trying to get somewhere he couldn't remember. He walked through haze, and in one glorious moment, he suddenly realized he had to get rid of the bullet. It had to leave his system.

He lurched into a dark area. He leaned against the wooden planks of a gate or fence and fumbled around at his wound. But it was hard to stand still and he fell against something which made noise. And then a door opened. And then light flooded his eyes out of nowhere and he hid from the light before it could hit him. And then, there was a girl. He heard a gasp and he managed to pull out another coherent thought—noise. No noise. Noise was bad.

It spurred him to move.

He thought he did a pretty fair job of preventing the noise. That was about as far as his plan had gone. He didn't yet realize the trouble in not having an after, before she suddenly pushed, and he was not on his feet anymore. More light, stronger light. Noise when the door closed. Noise when there was a little click. Noise when cloth rustled. Noise was bad, but somehow his sense of danger was no longer on a high and he grasped again at the thought which had been prevailing earlier.

The bullet had to go.

With single-minded determination, he lifted his heavy hand and probed at where the bullet had gone in. And then, he heard a voice, momentarily distracting him—"you're pushing it in"—he lifted his head and saw an angel. Dark eyes and waves of soft blonde falling forward. But, he was fairly certain he was not dead, and he was not sure if angels even existed, and so he was very confused.

"Here, let me," she said, although he wasn't sure what she had meant by that, but when she pushed his hand aside, he made no move to stop her. She lowered her hand holding—pliers—and then she did something—what was she doing?

It was not until he felt the pressure when he remembered—the bullet had to go.

"Take it out," he said, and she did.

The haze lifted as quickly as it had come. A flood of pain registered instantly, distracting him from the pace of her movements so he did not know the towel until he felt it pressing gently against the bullet wound, soaking up the blood. He met her face once more as he took hold of the terry cloth, and she no longer seemed an angel. She was certainly pretty and had waves of blonde hair, but he could have sworn earlier there was an ethereal glow which had made her quite unearthly. She was all human to him now, and just as well. If she still looked the angel, it couldn't have been a good sign.

His mouth was dry and when she offered him the glass of water, he was tempted to take it, but he knew he should not stay any longer than necessary. She seemed to be thinking along the same lines because after he had thanked her, she stepped away and made it more than clear he should haste along his way. He did not blame her and felt only grateful for her having helped him so much already as it was.

When she left his sight, he quickly made his way back out and programmed the Batmobile to pick him up in an empty, inconspicuous alley nearby. He felt a quelling relief when it finally approached, much like another night of drugs and haze under Scarecrow's toxin, though to a lesser degree. At the very least, he had regained most of his senses.

"Master Wayne," Alfred exclaimed as he helped him out of the vehicle. "What happened?"

"Poison and a bullet," said Bruce. He quickly shed himself of the batsuit, wincing when the movements pressed the suit against his lacerated flesh.

"That must have been some gun," said Alfred, displeased, as he tended to Bruce's wound.

"Mm," said Bruce. "It was some poison, Alfred. If it hadn't been for that girl, I don't know if I would have managed it on my own."

"A girl?" Alfred raised his eyebrows.

"I happened to stumble into the right backyard," said Bruce. He grimaced as antiseptic bubbled over the blood.

"You must take care not to get shot at again."

"I'll get shot at again, but I won't get shot. I think I'll have Lucius work on stronger body armor, and I'll be more careful. I hadn't thought the bullet would have gone through, carelessness on my part. It wasn't in any way normal. There had to have been lots of funding behind whoever got this one through."

"Where's the bullet now? Perhaps Lucius could take a look," Alfred suggested.

"I forgot to bring it," said Bruce, frowning. It wasn't like him to forget such a thing, but at the moment, it had completely escaped his notice. His only concern was to get out of the girl's place before she was embroiled any further in his mess and to return back to the Wayne Manor to properly go see about his injury. Bruce shrugged. "Well, there's not much we can do about that, anymore."

"Do you have any ideas of who might be behind this?" asked Alfred curiously.

"Nothing formularized yet, but Gordon has been mentioning he's been having a lot of trouble with a new Lieutenant who recently transferred in and seems to be working with some Batman bounty hunters," said Bruce.

"Batman bounty hunters," Alfred scoffed.

Bruce simply smiled.

* * *

Heaven was blinding bright white.

Actually—no. That was just the ceiling.

_Andrew._

Instinctively, Sara wanted to bolt up, but when she tried, she found her body would not comply with her wishes. Instead, she felt sharp pains pricking along the lines of each of her muscles. She ached everywhere and could taste blood when she flicked her tongue across her dry lips. She slowly took in a deep breath of air and tried to lift herself up again. She succeeded to some degree, raising at least her shoulders and head, supporting the weight with her forearms pressing into the bed.

Her heart quickened with the effort and her muscles burned, but she forced herself to remain semi-upright as she gathered her surroundings. It was a typical hospital room, shared with a handful of others hidden behind thick curtains.

"Where's my brother?" she meant to say, but the words hardly came out at all. They were so faint and whispery out of her papery throat.

Sara's heart was thrumming now. She could feel dampness forming on the back of her neck and the insides of her elbows. Her arms were quivering, muscles strung tight with tension. They felt like spaghetti, ready to cave in at any moment.

She collapsed an instant later, the bed rattling with the unexpected drop of weight.

Alerted by the noise, a nurse scrambled to Sara's little section, parting the curtains and rushing to her side. When Sara attempted to gather herself up again, the nurse adjusted her bed to an incline and helped her sit up against it.

"Ms. Price, please. You shouldn't strain yourself," the nurse remonstrated. She disappeared for a quick second and returned with a tray holding a glass of water, a cup of yogurt, and a bag of crackers. She set down the tray next to Sara. "I'll get you something more substantial later, but first have these."

Sara downed the water in several big gulps.

"Don't drink it too fast," the nurse warned too late.

Sara lifted her eyes to the nurse. "Where's my brother?" she asked quietly.

The nurse hesitated and Sara sensed her immediate discomfort. She took the empty glass from Sara and said, "I'll go get you some more water."

"Where's my brother?" Sara repeated before the nurse stepped out. Her voice was icy.

The nurse turned, facing Sara completely. She met her eyes and Sara's cold resolve broke right then when she saw that most dreaded emotion. Pity. The nurse was not moved by her strong façade and plainly regarding her with a pitying expression, whether she knew it or not.

"I'm sorry. He was gone before we got to him," she said at last.

The corners of Sara's mouth automatically turned down in response and the nurse turned around, hastily walking away. The curtains closed. Sara broke. She did not even try willing herself not to cry as she would have done in any other circumstance. Instead, she let her sobs overtake her. Hot tears seared down her cheeks and blurred her vision. She didn't bother dabbing at her runny nose with the napkin on the tray. Each tremor as she wept shot sharp pains through her sensitive body.

It had never hurt so much to cry before.

* * *

Sara had run out of tears two hours ago.

Initially she had sobbed feverishly for a good hour and a half before she was exhausted. For the next hour, she cried quietly. While she continually blinked her eyes rapidly, the tears had trailed down her puffy cheeks. Now they were dried salty residue, crumbling away when she swiped at them. Her eyes felt heavy from her swollen eyelids and she had to expend more energy keeping them open.

She continued lying still in bed, overtaken by grief and misery. Her stomach grumbled but she had no desire to eat what the nurse had brought out for her. She had no desire to move at all and wished only she could cry more, but her body wouldn't allow it.

Sara heard the sounds of their voices first. Like everything else outside the curtains, she would have easily been able to displace it out of her mind, except the voices were approaching her in angry conversation.

"Jesus Christ, Pauling! She lost her brother and just woke up hours ago. Are you so unfeeling you can't hold off for another day?"

"The doctor said her injuries were largely superficial. She's fucking fine. And I have questions that need answering. You may be commissioner now, but I still have a job to do, Gordon."

"Pauling—"

The curtain was harshly flung aside. The two men, Pauling and Gordon, looked down at her.

Sara stared up at them. Commissioner Gordon looked apologetic and vaguely embarrassed.

"Hello, Miss Price. I'm Lieutenant Peter Pauling," the man said snidely. "I'd like to take you back to the station to ask you some questions."

Gordon's expression was dark and he opened his mouth, about to protest when the nurse flung open the curtains with an equally dark countenance.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said coldly with all the authority of a doctor. "What do you think you are doing with my patient?"

"I have some urgent matters I must discuss with Miss Price. We would like to bring her back to the station," said Pauling obviously, annoyance at being doubly apprehended tingeing the tone of his voice.

"Miss Price is in no condition to leave the hospital," the nurse objected firmly.

"Well then move her to a private room," Pauling snapped.

The nurse was about to protest once more but Sara spoke first.

"Please," she said, staring at Pauling speculatively. "Just do as he says."

If it meant she would not have to go back to the station later, she was willing to be interrogated now in a private room. It also occurred to her she might find out what happened after she had blacked out. If they had caught the bastards who let Andrew die, and what would happen to them.

The nurse hesitated for a moment but turned back, retrieving aides to help.

"Sorry about this whole situation, but this is of utmost importance to the department," Gordon explained apologetically.

Pauling rolled his eyes. "It'll just do you only good to cooperate, Miss Price."

Sara nodded her head.

* * *

Lieutenant Peter Pauling left the room and immediately afterwards, Sara forced herself to ignore the searing pain when she moved. She clenched her teeth as she climbed out of the bed and stood on her two feet. She kept her hand on the wall, letting it support her weight for a few moments as she recovered her own bearings. When she thought she was ready, she made her way out of the room and was promptly seized by the nurse.

"I'm going to go now," Sara said.

"Miss Price, we strongly advise you not to leave. You realize you've just had a concussion?" the nurse frantically spoke to her, trying to direct her back to the room but Sara waved her off.

"Yes, I know. It's made my memory faulty and robbed me of my senses," Sara spat bitterly.

"You have numerous injuries all over your body—"

"Oh yes, they're not of any serious nature, from what I've been told."

"You have a fractured rib," said the nurse. "Cuts and bruises everywhere else. Please stay just a day or two longer, at least."

"Look," Sara glanced down at the nurse's nametag, "Katie. Thank you, very much, for taking care of me. But let's speak plainly here. Even if I really needed another night, I can't afford it. And from what I see, none of my injuries are serious enough to require any real medical attention."

"But—"

"So I will be leaving now. You'll be sending the bill in the mail, right? If you really want to do me a favor, please just make sure I won't be billed for tonight."

Nurse Katie was tight-lipped but she finally relented with a sigh. She threw her hands in the air and helped Sara down the hallway.

"I promise you," said Katie. "You won't be charged for anything more than necessary."

Sara managed to smile but it looked warped. Deformed. The hard edge of anger was still there.

"I appreciate it," said Sara.

Katie led her to the elevator before she turned back and Sara went down alone. She was halfway to the exit when someone called her name.

"Miss Price!"

Sara turned around. Commissioner Gordon was running towards her. She stopped and let him catch up to her.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Home," said Sara.

Gordon stared at her for a short while. His mouth tightened into a flat line.

"In that case, let me take you," said the commissioner.

Sara stared at him doubtfully.

"Please, it's the least I can do," he insisted. Sara sighed but followed him to the hospital garage and into his patrol car. He didn't ask directions to her apartment but was making all the right turns and she wondered in a passing thought whether he had been one of the police officers who had been present the last night at the scene.

The drive there was spent in still, awkward silence. Sara gathered something was on Gordon's mind from the little glances he kept tossing her way when he thought she wasn't looking, and he seemed like he wanted to say something. She was certain if she had prompted him, he would have spoken whatever was on his mind, but she didn't have the heart to be so generous and so remained with her mouth clamped shut.

The car pulled up in front of the complex and Gordon turned to her as she left and said, "I'm sorry about Lieutenant Pauling. He can get a little carried away."

Sara gave him a curt nod of thanks as she stepped out of the car. Gordon didn't drive away until she stepped inside her apartment and closed the door. She felt a pang of regret for not being a little kinder to him because he really did seem a nice person, but she simply couldn't find it in her to pull out such niceties when it was all just dreadfully pointless.

She closed her eyes and Pauling's words ran through her head.

* * *

_Carl Royston and Michael Gregory are two bounty hunters, good ones at that. They were trying to do their job and capture that menace batboy. Batman, serial murderer who went on a killing spree just near half a year ago. Those two boys did what none have managed so far, an actual bullet, imbedded with a tracker. We would have had him by now, but then, what do you know. Thanks to you, we still have a wanted murderer loose on the streets. What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Price?_

_It's a pity you and your brother tried to prevent two decent men do their jobs. If you had simply just stood aside instead of getting in their ways, there wouldn't have been any problems._

_Masks? No, I don't know what you are speaking of. When we got there, there were no masks. Perhaps you don't remember very well, due to your concussion. You also seem to be under impression Carl Royston assaulted you but he assures us that when they entered your home, Batman had thrown you to the floor as he was making his escape. He says you seem to have lost your senses then, because you attacked him crazily. He says it wasn't until then he was simply defending himself and accidentally got a little carried away._

_Do you really remember what happened last night? Both say you were on the floor and mumbling incoherently. Can you really remember everything clearly? Royston and Gregory gave us their confidence that when your brother went into seizures, they did everything within their power to help, but they had no idea what was going on._

_It is regrettable such a thing happened and all of us are very sorry for your loss. Royston and Gregory told me personally to send you their condolences._

_Considering these circumstances, we won't be pressing any charges._

_Against them? Of course not._

_No, Miss Price, we mean we won't be pressing any charges against you for aiding and abetting a known criminal._

_

* * *

_

Spilt trash remained on the kitchen floor but that was the only thing which served as a reminder from the other night. Yet, she stepped inside the dinky little apartment she had lived in for the past four years and it felt like the home of a stranger. Nearly everything else was in place, but it was all alien and foreign to her senses. Even the air did not feel the same to her and lacking a certain something.

Absence. The absence of Andrew was pronounced in every little thing.

Sara closed the door behind her and walked numbly to the living room. A multitude of picture frames hung on the wall mocked her. Photographs of Andrew smiling, photographs of her father, an old one of her parents' wedding, and some even of her. But the girl in the photograph was not her. It looked like her, but she couldn't have been the same person. That girl was smiling, and Sara wasn't sure how she ever knew how to.

Something inside her snapped and the numb haze lifted, replaced with a sort of anger she had never felt before. It coursed through her veins all the way up to her head and she grabbed one of the picture frames and flung it across the room. It chipped the green paint of the wall when hitting it and crashed to pieces on the floor.

The action served only as a catalyst and Sara was soon picking each frame off the wall and flinging them to the floor, one by one. After she had thrown the last remaining picture, the anger still continued to boil within her and she picked up the closest chair to her and threw that too. The other chairs still stood up tall and proud and that drove another sharp dagger of madness to her brain. She made sure they didn't dare have the nerve to remain standing and afterwards, she cleared the table from dishes and books in a fury.

And then after she flung one more dish and it shattered to the floor, she fell to her knees, the anger exhausted from her system.

Sara picked the glass up from the floor. One sharp edge caught her palm and blood blossomed along a straight line. Pain didn't register in her numb mind. Instead, she continued to watch the droplets of blood rapidly grow until it slowed to a stop, held back by the viscous outer layer, thickened by exposure to the air. She turned her hand vertically until the tension could not hold any longer and the bubbles of blood broke.

Liquid red streaked down her hands.

Sara carefully stood and made her way to the bathroom. She went through achingly familiar motions. She turned on the faucet and held her hand underneath the steady stream of cold water.

The water ran red. Blood. Hers.

The night before, it had been Batman's.

She had heard of this before.

Who had said it? She wracked her brain. Someone had said it before, many, many times. She distinctly remembered—the light of knowledge flooded her. Yes, it had been a teacher. Mr. Ferguson. Economics, second semester of senior year, high school. How could she have forgotten? How many times had he said it in class? She was sure she had heard it at least once a week all the way up to graduation.

_There was no such thing as a free lunch._

Somebody always paid.

It was just a question of who.

* * *

**A/N**: In case anyone hasn't figured it out, the chapter titles are coming from songs by the Cure, my favorite band. They're quite good. And actually yes, I did name this after the game Snakes and Ladders. Pretty much directly from wiki: "Snakes and Ladders is based off an older Indian game of morality called Moksha Patamu. The ladders represent virtues, the snakes represent vices, and the moral of the game is that a person can attain salvation through performing good deeds. However, the number of ladders is lower than the number of snakes; consequently, treading the path of good is more difficult."

Which goes with the theme of lots and lots of torture in this fic. The drama tag is there for a reason and if anyone has read my other fiction, it should be no surprise I like to push it in terms of making people suffer. If I'm going to ruin Sara's life, I believe it is my duty to ruin it as spectacularly as possible. I suppose some people get off on WAFF, some on the sexy, but I'm all for the angst. It's probably why I love Bruce so much and don't understand the more dominant fanbase towards Joker/Scarecrow. Yes, they're both cool, but Batman is so _tortured_. And if you haven't caught it in here, this does take place about a half year after the Dark Knight.


	3. Disintegration

**Snakes and Ladders**_**  
Chapter Three: Disintegration**_

_**

* * *

**_

Sara woke up with the utmost desire to fling the ringing clock across the room. Instead she hit the alarm button. She had enough to clean from her fit last night. She stayed still for another minute or so before she finally threw off the covers. With great effort, she stepped out of the bed. It was no easy task. If her body had felt horrible when she had woken up at the hospital, the intensity of the aches was now stronger by at least twofold.

She was running short on time, so though she took a shower, she let the water run for only five minutes. The hot water did much to ease the aches in her sore muscles and she vowed to herself she would take a much longer one when she returned home later on that night.

When Sara studied herself in the mirror for the first time since before she had entered this hell of a dream, her first reaction was to visibly cringe. She looked absolutely horrific, like a battered housewife or, taking her younger age and looks into consideration, a streetwalker battered by an abusive pimp. Her eyes were puffy from her intense bouts of crying and her dried lips were cracked. An appalling large bruise graced her left cheek and another smaller one graced her chin. Both were shocking in their high color of purplish-black and edged with a sickly yellow. Other bruises littered the rest of her body, some just as shocking, but those she could easily hide under clothing. The worst of all was the one where Royston had pressed his foot hard enough to crack a rib.

She attempted to cover up the bruises marking her face but made only moderate success. Her skin was already naturally on the fair side and the darkness in her skin seeped through whatever foundation she did smear over it. If she looked liked a battered hooker earlier, she now looked like a battered hooker trying to cover up the evidence. She wasn't sure if that was so much better.

Still, she had to go to work because she had to make money. There were still the hospital bills to pay for her father. Even if he wasn't exactly living, he was still alive also and Sara knew he would wake up eventually. That was all that mattered.

So she went along her daily routines with only little alteration. She put on her plain office garb but washed down three extra strong painkillers with orange juice before she left the apartment. When she arrived at the courthouse, she could feel instantaneously the stares abound and knew everyone had to have heard about her ordeal beforehand, though she supposed her physical appearance was shocking enough in itself. Sara supposed another day the painfully obvious stares might have led to her feeling self-conscious and insecure. Except, Andrew was dead and Sara discovered such other things were trivial in comparison.

Sara took in a deep breath that made her wince in pain, the expansive movement of her lungs pressing pain against her chest. She took in note to remember to take more shallow breaths. It hurt much less.

Endure. She would have to endure.

Her father was still alive. He would wake up. Everything would be okay.

Sara caught sight of Tina, darting around unusually around the offices. It occurred to her Tina had not given her standard daily greeting of exuberance and smiles, and Sara thought on it with some bitterness. She loathed to be treated so differently, to feel the weight of false sympathy. Andrew was dead. He was gone, and none of them could truly know what those three words meant to her.

Sara had falsely believed her day couldn't get much worse and was once again proved wrong. They certainly regarded her with looks of pity, but the reason behind them had been completely mistaken. She did not even realize the real reason when she went to her usual seat only to find it unusually occupied. Dumbly, she went to the main office of Hank to inform him of her reason for missing work the other day, expecting an understanding reprieve and was almost shocked with what happened instead.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. It's a tragedy," said Hank. He had an all too apologetic look to the point where it lacked any substance.

In that moment, Sara felt the desperate desire to punch him and had never wanted to punch anyone before in her life. She knew suddenly exactly what was coming. She couldn't quite believe such a thing was happening—it seemed just too ridiculous even in her situation, and yet, she couldn't find it in herself to really be all that surprised.

"It's just, it doesn't really look well here for us. I really am sorry, but I'm going to have to ask for your resignation," explained Hank. He didn't expect her to argue and Sara didn't bother. She knew it would get her nowhere. She agreed with him in all curtness and refused to appease his conscious in any way when she purposefully avoided his attempt to pull her into a hug. He recovered quickly from his blunder with an outstretched arm, palm open in all courteousness for a handshake. He received only one last cool glance before she spun around and walked out of his office.

She went to her desk to retrieve her few possessions and her replacement, a boy who Sara couldn't recall seeing before, hastily stood up and out of the way when she approached. He fidgeted with his hands uncomfortably and made care not to meet eyes with Sara. Her lips curved into a bitter smile and she pretended not to feel the burning stares of her now former coworkers. She stuffed everything she needed in her large canvass bag before she stood up abruptly and walked out of the building for what would be the last time in her life.

"Sara! Wait up," Tina cried. She had run outside to catch her and was out of breath, brown hairs awry from its failing ponytail.

"Tina," Sara acknowledged her tonelessly. "Sorry I couldn't cover you yesterday. Something came up."

"Never mind that," said Tina, wiping away at tears. "How are you?"

Sara blinked.

"Right, of course."

Unexpectedly, Tina took hold of Sara's hand too quickly for her to draw it back. She opened her hand and placed an envelope in her palm before closing Sara's fingers over the folded white paper. "Here," said Tina. "It isn't much, but this is the pool collected for Hank's birthday present, but everyone agreed you should have it instead."

"You guys didn't have to—" Sara started. She felt genuine astonishment. Sara had worked at the courthouse for the last three years, but she had never fostered any particularly close relationships with anyone. Even her friendship with Tina was casual and did not extend outside of work.

"Take it," Tina said firmly, shaking her head.

Sara stared at her for a few moments before she managed the first real smile since Andrew died. It was small and humorless, but there was nothing twisted in it, nothing ironic or bitter to the taste.

"Thank you," she said.

"I'm so sorry. Hank is such an asshole. If you need anything, please call me. Really, Sara, please," said Tina. She threw her arms over Sara, who remained awkwardly still. "I'm so sorry," she whispered before she disentangled herself and ran back inside.

Sara stuffed the envelope in her purse. She sighed and took a glance at her watch. It was another two hours before the Hanging Garden opened for lunch. She wasn't even scheduled to work during the lunch today, but she hadn't contacted the manager Julie yet. As far Julie knew, Sara was a no-show the last night.

It took only Sara a few more seconds to decide what to do with her block of time.

She went to the hospital in the west end of Gotham, not the one where she had been taken to, but to the one where Louis Price had been a resident of for the last year. It was inconvenient to get to, being situated far from the city center and anywhere of importance in Gotham, but it had been a week since Sara had last visited him. She had gone with Andrew as she always did, once every week or two depending on how much time she had available to spare.

In all the commotion that had been going on, she realized she hadn't even had a chance to tell her father what happened. Some part of her was glad he wasn't awake right at the moment. As much as she loved Andrew, she knew if there was anyone who loved him more than she did, it was her father. Sara wasn't sure what she would say when he woke up and for the first time since he entered the coma, she dreaded his wakening. She felt something of a failure.

"Hi Dad," said Sara as she walked into the hospital room. She took a seat next to him and cleared her throat uncertainly. She knew he couldn't hear her, and yet even then, it was so hard. She didn't know how to say it. _Sorry, I helped a known fugitive and Andrew died. Sorry, I traded Batman's life for his. Sorry, I killed Andrew._ How was she ever going to tell him when he woke?

Instead she took his hand in hers. The skin on his hand was loose around his knuckles and aged with time. His hands were always larger than hers but they looked so frail against hers.

"Daddy," Sara sighed, lifting his hand and pressing a firm kiss against it. "Wake up soon."

His hand was warm. That was the only thing that mattered.

* * *

Sara arrived at the Hanging Garden a little after the lunch shift had started. Initially, Julie looked annoyed when she spotted her, but before she could get in a harsh word, she clamped her mouth shut. Concern replaced the irritation. No doubt, Sara's puffy face and peeking bruises spoke for itself.

"What happened?" Julie fretted, rushing to her and taking a look over at her injuries.

"Burglars broke into my place when I was home," Sara lied, waving away Julie's concern. "Is it alright if I take the next two or three days off?"

"Of course!" Julie cried. She looked appalled Sara was even asking the question. "You can't work looking like this, anyway. It would just put off all the customers. If you need more than three days, just let me know. I can get Audrey to cover for you."

"I won't need more than three days," Sara said with certainty. She couldn't afford more than three days.

She went to the funeral home afterwards.

* * *

Early morning, the next day, Sara stood alone on the green grass. She wore black.

They lowered the coffin.

Tears trailed down her cheeks and whatever the priest said didn't even register as words to her at all, just some low droning noise imbedded in the background. He didn't take very long anyway and when he was done, he took one sorrowful glance to Sara before he walked away to leave her alone.

This was not how her younger brother was supposed to buried, in a pauper's grave at a pauper's funeral with the only guests save herself the two handlers and the priest. Andrew was supposed to have a tearful wife and several grown children with their own children. And Sara was not supposed to be there. She was not supposed to be alive. She was supposed to be dead, because her younger brother was not supposed to die before her.

* * *

The bottle stared at her. Triple distilled. Smirnoff Red Label. Eighty fucking proof, thirty-eight and a half percent. A reminder from her college days, from the few times she actually did go to parties. Sara had never been a big drinker, though, and so when she left Brown, the vodka did not go with her. It remained a relic of her college years, impressed with the rest of those fond memories.

Sara stared back at the bottle. It was the cheapest bottle at Bob's Liquors, which she had come across on her way back from the metro after Andrew's funeral. It had seemed a genius idea at the time. It still seemed a genius idea now, so she picked up the heavy bottle with shaky hands and carefully poured it into the Rhode Island shot glass she had kept as a keepsake from her Brown years. Or, she meant to pour carefully, because she didn't quite succeed as vodka overfilled and spilled onto the table.

When she lifted the shot glass, vodka splashed over her fingers and ran down her hand, stinging the uncovered cut stitched into her palm. When she tipped it into her mouth, she nearly spit it back out. It burned a lot more than she remembered and after she managed to swallow the poison, she continued to grimace afterwards, unable to get the taste out of her tongue.

Disgusting. _Disgusting_.

Sara poured another one. And then some.

* * *

Sara was lying on her bed. She was sure she wasn't moving a muscle. She was sure her entire body was absolutely still. So, logically speaking, the lights on the ceiling shouldn't have been moving. They weren't even moving obviously, but just a little dazed push to the left, and then back to the right, maybe up or down.

Maybe she _was_ moving. Maybe she was swaying. But wait no—her mind was still there. She still kept her senses, and reason told her she was lying down. She couldn't sway, unless she was rolling on the bed. But no, that wasn't really swaying. That was rolling. And if she was rolling, she was pretty sure she'd hear it. Or maybe not. Everything sounded blurry.

But how did things sound blurry when there was no sound? What she meant was that she simply didn't hear anything. Everything was silent. But it didn't seem like silence. It seemed like a dim buzzing noise. A low hum.

She closed her eyes.

Bees. It sounded like bees.

* * *

"How goes it in the station?" asked Batman gruffly.

"Not good," said Gordon. He raised a hand to his haggard face. "Pauling has become more and more disruptive. He won't listen to a damned thing I say. The authority of commissioner doesn't even faze him. He's riling things up when people are just starting to settle down."

"I haven't found any traces of the underground on him," admitted Batman.

"You won't," said Gordon. He looked to the caped crusader. "You've heard of Rupert Thorne?"

"Multi-millionaire business tycoon with some questionable connections," said Batman. Sadly, he could have said the same about at least half of Gotham's elite.

"Exactly. His assets don't even touch Bruce Wayne's shadow, but he certainly has more clout," said Gordon. Batman resisted the small smile wishing to tug at his lips. "Thorne's always been rumored here and there to have some shady dealings, but he's one person we could never pin anything on conclusively. He has enough money to leave nothing to trail. I've just heard news on the inside he's got a new card up his sleeve."

Batman kept his impenetrable calm, but inside, he was somewhat surprised. He had looked into Rupert Thorne at one point, and whenever Bruce Wayne dealt with him, he always had a particular distaste for the man and knew not only did Thorne despise Batman, but he was as ruthless as a businessman could get. Thorne was notorious for his hardball tactics, but Batman had never suspected such deeper corruption than the norm as Gordon was implicating.

"Politics," said Gordon with a ragged sigh. "It seems he'd like to run Gotham just as singlehandedly as he runs his business ventures."

"He's the type who wins over others by might," said Batman. If Thorne was behind the hunters who had shot him, the funds for such high tech equipment would be explained. He would have to look more deeply into the man, perhaps recruit the aid of Lucius.

"Exactly. He needs to capitalize on the people's fear to elect him into power." Gordon sighed again and muttered under his breath, "Just when things were starting to calm down…"

Just when people were starting to recover from the aftermath of the Joker.

"If it weren't for Pauling, those damned bounty hunters would give it a rest. Last month, there were only one or two who were still seriously focused only on bringing you in, and now, the hunt has been reignited."

Not to say Batman wasn't on the list of the hunted. He was simply no longer a top priority as the search had been largely futile and the police station had other more important matters on hand.

"You were shot," said Gordon suddenly.

"It won't happen again," said Batman. He frowned. "How did you know?"

"There was a girl who helped…?" said Gordon questioningly, though both knew the answer. Gordon looked uncertain. "Sara Price."

"What happened?" Batman barked.

"There was a tracker in the bullet. It led a Carl Royston and Michael Gregory to Sara's home."

"What. Happened."

"She escaped with superficial injuries," said Gordon. He hesitated. "Her younger brother died."

His mind went blank.

"It wasn't your fault, Batman," Gordon quickly added.

He was already gone.

* * *

She woke up feeling dizzy and a little light-headed except there was a dull hammering on the inside of her forehead. It kept her more awake than she wanted to be. Even more importantly, she felt gross. Sara winced as she sat herself up, her head pounding more substantially with the movement. She took in a deep sigh and closed her eyes. Dirty and gross. She felt disgusting.

Sara stood up and the moment she was on her own two feet, a wave of nausea swept over her and she found she had to sit back down again. She wanted to crawl back in bed, but her mind was too alert to ignore the dirtiness she felt. It seemed to her a layer of grime had formed over her skin and her hair was greasy. She needed a shower badly, and the little reminders of her aching wounds when she deigned to move even the slightest made her welcome the idea of hot, rushing water.

She waited a little while and took a few more calming gulps of air before she tried to stand again. She succeeded and wobbled to the bathroom, finding a little more sturdiness in each step but also finding each step took a little more strength she didn't have. She didn't even bother shutting the door closed behind her and it creaked half open as she shed herself of her clothes hastily.

Sara turned the water on absent-mindedly, simply turning the nozzle to the red. The torrents coming down an instant later scalded her skin but it was still at a bearable temperature and so she left it where it was. It felt good, but the heat was getting to her brain and her breaths were coming in more quickly, more steam than air getting into her lungs.

Sara had shampooed her hair and nearly washed it all out before she collapsed to the floor, unable to stand any longer on her buckled knees. She pulled back the shower curtain, not paying any attention to the fact water was getting all over the floor. The sudden breath of cool air rushing in was a relief and somewhere in the back of her mind she was glad the bathroom door was open to provide ventilation.

She remained on the bathtub floor for a while, hot water raining down on her back and cold air brushing her face. Her mind both fogged and cleared at the same time. She would have possibly fallen asleep right there, except the water started to warm instead of scald and she knew it would not be long before it went cold. The water never stayed hot for very long in the complex.

She didn't bother putting conditioner in her hair, simply washing out the rest of the shampoo and lathering some soap on her body before she stepped out. She noted wryly the clothes she had left on the floor were now soaked but her bathrobe hanging on the door was still dry.

Her mouth was dry with thirst and she went over to the kitchen for a drink. What she found surprised her only vaguely and Sara wondered if she was still drunk. On the counter, there was already a full glass of water. Next to it, two white pills. A giant bat in the corner.

Well, shit.

* * *

When he'd gotten there, he heard the water running. The half-empty bottle of vodka and a lone little shot glass on the table was all he really needed to surmise how exactly Sara Price had been faring since he last saw her. He still wasn't sure what exactly he was doing there, what he would do or say, but he knew he needed to see her. He had half the mind to leave anyway but then she walked in.

He was probably more surprised than she was. Batman didn't show it, but he took in a quick study of her appearance and felt sickened at the sight of purple decorating her skin so generously. It had been two days since that night and she looked an entirely different creature.

An instant of confusion flickered over Sara's face before she recovered. He couldn't read her expression clearly, but he could read the fact she wasn't happy to see him. His thoughts were confirmed a moment later when she spoke.

"What do you want?" she said as she walked to the kitchen and picked up the glass of water. She didn't sound as angry as he had thought she might, but more sardonic and resigned with his presence. He would have preferred her angry. This bitterness was harder for him to swallow.

Sara snorted when he turned his head for the sake of her modesty. She was wearing only a bathrobe, so loosely tied it looked like it was threatening to fall open and reveal a dangerous amount of skin.

He held his breath and exhaled the only words he could think of to say.

"You saved my life."

"Pity," she said impassively. She popped the pills in her mouth and washed it down with the water. She leaned her back against the refrigerator, letting it support the whole of her weight, and watched him watch her.

"They know," he said. It was something that just occurred to him.

"Who are they?" she said, but she didn't sound like she really had any interest in the answer. She sounded like she was asking the question if only to humor him mockingly.

"Whoever shot me. I don't know if you're safe here." He spoke the thoughts as they came to him. He wasn't really sure if they would come back for her again, but then again, last time, he sure as hell didn't think they'd come for her then.

Sara gave him an incredulous look for a good few seconds before she shook her head, something not laughter falling from her twisted lips.

"Look, Batman. If you're here because you want to absolve yourself of guilt or something, just." Sara stopped mid-sentence. She brought her hands up to her creased forehead, holding them still against her skin. Her eyes were hidden and she took in a few deep breaths of air. Her voice was small and broke numerous times when she continued, "Just forget about it. Consider yourself forgiven. It doesn't matter anymore."

His chest tightened. His heart had not hurt this much for a long time.

She lifted her head and dropped her hands.

Her face was flushed apart from the spots of crimson painting her cheeks. Her mouth wavered into a frown and she continually blinked back tears which made their way down the contours of her face anyway.

She brought up her watery brown eyes to meet his.

"Leave," said Sara.

This time when she continued, her voice did not break. It did not waver. It was quiet, but not soft. She spoke a command, and she meant it.

"Don't come back."

A sharp intake of air and he was gone.

But neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne was ever good at listening to others.

* * *

**A/N: **Sara will definitely be just about as tortured as Bruce. Enter stage right: spiral down self-destruction. Enter state left: essays before the spring holidays, so next update should be up in two weeks. Anyway, enjoy! and thanks for all the reviews. :)


	4. One More Time

**Snakes and Ladders**_**  
Chapter Four: One More Time**_

_**

* * *

**_She would never have chosen to work at Red York's, except it was close enough to walk to from where she lived in the Narrows and when she went inside just to inquire about waitressing jobs, they had offered to hire her right off the bat. She didn't doubt it had to do with her looks. Young, blonde, and pretty; it was the exact tastes of the owner, Benny York. She didn't have the requisite drug addiction, but she did have the requisite dreary hopelessness to start one and she was sure Benny had picked right up on that.

It possibly depressed her a little more when Sara discovered she felt a closer kinship to the waitresses of Red York's than those of the Hanging Garden, and she'd been working at the latter for over three years. Not only that, but she hated Red York's. She hated Benny and his disgusting leers, his false façade of caring as he sneaked little pats on her back and bottom whenever he had the chance, the way he always smelled like cigars and something fishy on his too close breath. Everything about him repulsed her. The clientele of Red York's was much the same in character. Sometimes after a shift there, she was overwhelmed with a feeling of heartsickness. Or nausea. Sometimes both.

Yet she found some relief when she caught the other waitress's stares and instead of pity found recognition. It was almost as though when her eyes met theirs, there was an instant flare, mini-thought of, 'ah yes, I know you and share your pain. My life, too, sucks majorly'. Sara had a feeling this relief in shared misery didn't make her a very good person but she didn't much mind. She didn't really want to be a good person anyway. Nothing good ever came of it.

One girl took a particular liking to Sara instantly. Her name was Laurel and she was about the same age as Sara. Laurel's hair was more platinum to Sara's honeyed gold, and her eyes were a vivid shade of blue which sometimes looked unnatural in its intensity of color. She had pouty lips and a heart-shaped face which set off her features very nicely. Probably, she was one of the prettiest girls Sara had ever seen before. Probably also, this was one of the main reasons why she was Benny's girlfriend—at least, one of them, but Laurel was the only one who could claim that illustrious title of being 'official'.

If it bothered her that Benny openly flirted with other girls and even other waitresses right in front of her, she did not show it or even acknowledge such acts when they occurred as they so often did. But neither was Laurel to be easily labeled as some ditzy airhead. If she had been so, she wouldn't have been Benny's official girl. On the contrary, she seemed more ambivalent in her affections towards him while he openly worshipped her when his eyes were where they were supposed to be.

Most times, it didn't even seem as though Laurel liked Benny at all. She might have staunchly ignored his indiscretions, pretending they didn't exist, but she actively sassed him whenever she could. When Laurel was feeling particularly vicious, she riled him up by purposefully touching a customer on the arm with a teasing smile. More often than not, she would pay later on in the form of a bruise artfully placed here or there, but her spirit was never broken and Benny would always be on his best behavior the next day. His show of shame was almost believable even to Sara, but she couldn't in any way fathom what in God's name a girl like Laurel was doing, taking it up with Benny. It wasn't her business though, so Sara usually didn't let her thoughts stray in such directions.

She had been working there for almost a week when after her shift for the day, Laurel went up to her, gathering her things from the lockers as Sara undid her apron. Sara looked to her curiously. She thought Laurel was taking the late shift, which Sara usually successfully got out of. As little as she liked how Benny often would get too close for comfort, it was a hundred times easier fending him off than fending off five drunken versions of him at the same time, which pretty much epitomized the whole of the late night shift. Sara supposed the one positive in being Benny's girl was that Laurel never had to worry about being hassled by the customers who all knew well just exactly who she was. Although Sara wasn't sure how much better it was to get hassled by Benny all day as a trade.

"Hey Sara, what are you doing after work?" Laurel asked. She removed her own apron and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. Then she took out a compact from her purse and coated on another layer of mascara to her eyelashes.

"Going home," said Sara.

Laurel put her compact away and grinned at her. "Well if you're not doing anything, want to go out for some drinks?"

Sara crinkled her brow.

"It's just, I need a drink, real bad," said Laurel quickly before Sara could speak. "Benny's driving me crazy and I just… it's one of those days, you know?"

A refusal was on the tip of her tongue, but with Laurel looking at her with those bright, pleading blue eyes, and the bit of purplish-black escaping the cover of foundation on the high part of her cheek, Sara found herself agreeing to go with her. Laurel thanked her gratefully, brimming with an eager excitement which made Sara feel sorry for her—that she was so happy to spend time with _her_ of all people, who she hardly knew. Not that Sara's own life was much better, but it made her wonder what Laurel did most of her time.

She found little amusement that Laurel led her to the little bar across the street. Grenadine was half the size of Red York's but with an entirely different clientele. The people who went to Red York's were usually slimy men with slimier connections. The people who went to Grenadine were more of a college-going crowd, except none of them actually went to college. Sara looked around her. Nearly everyone had on a trendy little outfit. They also looked happy. She didn't feel like she quite belonged.

The bartender handed her a drink. She took a sip of the red-colored concoction Laurel had ordered for her and blanched only a little.

"So what's your story, Sara?" asked Laurel.

"What's yours?" Sara easily returned.

Laurel smiled and she exhaled a wistful sigh.

"A boy told me he'd show me the world."

"Benny?"

"God no," Laurel immediately said. She made a face. "I wouldn't have followed that loser to leave behind my happy little life in California."

Sara almost asked her why she was with him in the first place but held her tongue.

"I know what you're thinking, and I have my reasons," said Laurel knowingly. She lifted the drink to her lips. "It's been so long now since I left home and I put the past behind me, but every once a while I like to remember. Feel sorry for myself, I suppose."

They both finished the remains of their drinks and Laurel ordered another round. This time, their drinks came in orange and when Sara took a sip, she found it better-tasting by far. That, or she was starting to feel the alcohol. She took another sip and decided it was probably a combination of both. Her arms were beginning to feel heavy.

"Men!" said Laurel. She lifted her glass and urged Sara to do the same. "They say they'll stay with you forever, and then they go and die on you. Bastards!"

Laurel downed her drink and when Sara took only a few more sips of hers, she goaded her into finishing the rest. Then she ordered again before Sara could protest. Sara was pretty sure she was getting drunk now if she already wasn't. Which, she thought she was. Laurel laughed at her and Sara realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

Sara felt a hand to her shoulder and she turned her head.

A friendly-looking youth smiled down at her. Well, probably he wasn't much younger than her if he actually was, but looking at the radiant smile on his face made Sara feel old. She took another drink from her glass as he introduced himself.

"Excuse me, _Charlie_," said Laurel sharply, his name ringing mockingly off her tongue. "My friend and I are having a drink here."

Charlie had the humor not to look at all offended. He shrugged his shoulders and with another goofy grin directed to Sara, he vanished back into the crowd behind them.

"Life is so much better when you're not sober," said Laurel.

Sadly, Sara was inclined to agree and she downed the contents of her drink in an a-fucking-men.

"That's the spirit!" laughed Laurel, following her move.

If she had any uncertainties on the state of her drunkenness, they were all dispelled now. Sara was pretty sure she was not at all close to sober. For one, things were beginning to move again when she was pretty sure they weren't supposed to. She closed her eyes and everything still felt like it was spinning.

"Laurel, what the fuck," somebody cursed.

Sara lifted her head and saw Benny. He came up from behind Laurel and didn't even notice Sara's existence. She didn't completely notice his, either. Her vision was swimming. Colors were starting to blur together.

Benny tugged on Laurel's arm roughly.

"I'll see you later, Sara," said Laurel, rolling her eyes. She hardly got out the words as Benny was making quick work of dragging her out of the bar.

Sara nodded her head even though Laurel was no longer there to see her acknowledgement. She remained sitting in her seat until the song playing in the background changed into the next, trying unsuccessfully to let her vision still before she grabbed her coat and purse to leave.

She stumbled outside and nearly fell flat on her face, except the bouncer pulled her back up with the impassive look of one who had seen it all. Sara waved her hand in thanks and started the long walk home. It occurred to her that walking home alone at night in the Narrows was probably not the best idea in the world. It also occurred to her that she didn't really give a fuck because everything was wonderfully blurry.

A block or two down, Sara's foot caught on a rock and she fell forward. She expected the cold ground and was astonished when her face did not meet it. She took in a deep breath and wrinkled her brow in confusion. She did not like confusion. When she lifted her head and met the familiar mask of the bat, the blurry haze lifted somewhat and she pushed herself out of his arms, almost falling backwards but carefully steadied by him before she could. She was about ready to indignantly push him away again but he let go first.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she said angrily. She whipped her head around, looking for the purse she didn't remember dropping.

"I was in the area," he said. She glanced up at him, looking disgusted at his answer. He dangled the purse in front of her and she snatched it from him.

"My hero," she drawled. She carefully tucked the purse underneath her arm and dusted her thighs before she started walking again. In a span of seconds, her mind had drastically sobered, but the rest of her body seemed to continue in its sluggish manner, frustrating her to bits.

"It's dangerous to walk alone at this time."

"Gee willikers, Batman," she intoned flatly. She waved him away with her hand and with a near silent whisper of the air, he had sunk back into the shadows of the night. Sara continued to truck her way home, paused intermittently with slight stumbles in her steps. She didn't need to turn around to see he was no longer behind her, but at the same time, she knew even if he was hidden from her sight, it was just that. He was hidden, but he was still there.

Sara could feel his presence the whole walk home.

* * *

"What are you thinking of Master Wayne?"

Bruce lifted his head and smiled grimly.

"Ah, Miss Price, then," Alfred conjectured. He exhaled a deep sigh as he walked over to Bruce. "There was nothing you could've done."

Sara Price had been haunting his mind for the last week. Gordon didn't mention her again after letting him know what had happened, and after first discussing it with Alfred, the latter had decisively concluded there was simply nothing he could do and Bruce was forced to grudgingly agree.

Resolving to close a matter was much easier than the actual forgetting. He tried to throw even more of himself into Batman. Bruce Wayne had also thrown another successful charity ball with a gorgeous model on each arm. He looked deeper into Royston and Gregory, despairing himself to frustration when he could find nothing conclusive tying them down to anything. And Gordon was right; Rupert Thorne was the most slippery of all.

Then the last night, when he had been making his rounds in the Narrows, the flash of stumbling blonde caught his eye. He watched from the darkness as she made her way down the mostly empty street with all the grace of a drunkard. When he caught her, she couldn't get him out of her sight soon enough. She despised him. He did not blame her.

All resolve broke and right after Batman had safely seen her home, Bruce pulled up all the information he could on Sara Price. He went through her files like a madman and in the few lines available on an otherwise nondescript citizen of Gotham, what he found tormented him further. Mother dead at sixteen. A sophomore drop-out at Brown. It didn't take him long to connect the dots when he found her comatose father first enlisted into the hospital at the same time. And now to add to the list, her only sibling joined the ranks of the dead.

He read the files over and over again, searching for more in between the scant lines, until when he woke up in the morning and found they were surreptitiously placed into the paper shredder. Despite Alfred's best efforts, he had gotten to them too late. Bruce had memorized them already.

"Why did I forget the bullet, Alfred?" Bruce asked for the hundredth time. He pressed his index finger to his temple.

"And lead them here? No, Master Wayne, it happened for a reason."

"You really think that," Bruce said. It was a statement more than a question.

"Would you expect me to say I would've preferred it would've led them here, to Wayne Tower? Uncover the identity of Batman? I should hope not."

"I destroyed her life," Bruce exhaled.

"You can't know what would have happened otherwise. Maybe if she had chosen not to help you that night and you were killed or found out, maybe she would have been eaten up with the same guilt eating you up now. You can never know."

"Her brother would be alive," said Bruce flatly. "She would not be all alone."

"Master Wayne," said Alfred.

Bruce looked up to him and noticed for the first time the shadows under the elder man's eyes. The events of that night did not affect only him, but spread on to his butler. Bruce was surprised he did not notice it earlier. Alfred had always felt more deeply for him than he sometimes did for himself.

"You haven't eaten lunch yet," Alfred pointed out.

He smiled and stood.

"I'll be back for dinner," he said instead.

Bruce decided there was somewhere he wanted to go for lunch.

* * *

He was there again.

It was the third time that week, and normally Sara wouldn't have paid attention, but he was especially handsome and even Sara wasn't that blind.

The first time, he hadn't even been in her section though, and after initially noting his good looks, she had put him out of her mind and diligently served her tables for the rest of her shift. She hadn't even noticed when he had left, but after he had gone and when they were putting dishes away in the back, Audrey immediately exclaimed to her, "You know that guy? The really cute one, tall, dark, and handsome? He was totally checking you out."

Sara had rolled her eyes in response and told her she was probably delusional and seeing things, and then she proceeded to forget about it. Even if he had been 'checking her out', it didn't matter. Sara had hardly thought of dating before… now, it didn't ever cross her mind except as something she thought of as an impossibility. Audrey had continued to insist her case and Sara had continued to ignore her.

The second time he had come, it had been two or three days after the first. He had sat in her section this time, but it had been a particularly large lunch rush and though she took his order, another server, Carrie, had ended up taking care of him for the rest of his meal. Sara had noted his arrival but again missed his departure, and unlike Audrey, Carrie had not had much to say except that she had thought the hunk in the corner was ridiculously good-looking and probably had an equally hot girlfriend, huh?

That had been two days ago.

Now he was here again, sitting in her section, and a good half hour after the main lunch crowds. If Sara hadn't noticed him much before, she certainly took more notice of him now, but even with all the hand gestures Audrey made in the back, Sara thought little of her earlier words. He was simply another customer, albeit a very good-looking customer who was looking to be a new regular at the Hanging Garden.

"What's the soup of the day?" he asked when she walked over to his table to get his order.

"Minestrone," answered Sara easily.

"Hm." He set the menu down after turning it over in his hands. He looked up to Sara and when their eyes met, Sara could have sworn déjà vu. He smiled at her and Sara wondered if he had caught her surprise. "I'm not really feeling the minestrone right now, and I'm just at a loss as to what to order. What would you recommend?"

"Well," said Sara tentatively. She glanced at the menu. "The house tortellini is pretty good."

"I'll have that then," he said without another moment's hesitation.

Sara quickly wrote down the order and placed it in the back. When she went to refill his glass of water, as she moved to turn after filling it to the brim, he stopped her movements with a question. Sara turned back to him, regarding him carefully for the first time. He truly was handsome, with dark eyes and a smile lilting his lips when he spoke, but his eyes were completely unreadable and Sara didn't know what to make of him. And he really was just as ridiculously good-looking as Carrie inferred, so after a quick moment, Sara decided to pass off his inquiry as friendliness on his part. She was no ugly duckling but she wasn't ridiculously good-looking either.

"I'm sorry?" said Sara. "I didn't catch that."

"I was just wondering how long you guys have been open," he said. His voice had a deeper quality to it, falling to the ears in a soothing rhythm.

"Um, well, I think maybe six years or so? I started about three or four years ago," said Sara. She lifted the pitcher in her hand and said apologetically, "Sorry, I should get back."

He nodded at her and as soon as she was in the back, Audrey assailed her with questions. Even Julie, who usually censured them with sharp looks when the servers talked during work, listened in with mild interest.

"What did you talk about? What did he ask you? What did you tell him?" she peppered the questions with an enthusiasm which only gave Sara a headache.

"Nothing. He was just asking me about the menu."

Audrey looked visibly disappointed with her answer and Julie lost interest. She snapped at them to get back to work and Sara more than happily complied.

He didn't speak to her any more than necessary after. A thank you when she set down his food. A thank you when she refilled his glass the second time. A thank you when she took the empty dishes away. A thank you when she handed him the check. If there was anything she did learn from serving him personally for the first time, it was that his mother had raised him right.

Change in the pace came when she saw him put down the hundred dollar bill.

"I'm sorry, but is it possible you have smaller change?" asked Sara automatically without going back to the till. She knew Julie would send her back regardless.

He took the hundred back and laid down a fifty. It wasn't much better, but Sara took it.

When she went back to his table to bring him his change, he was gone. She stood frozen, completely astonished for a good minute before Julie chided her from the back to gather her senses.

Audrey snatched the tab from Sara to check the tip. Her eyes goggled when she saw the remains of the fifty.

"Wow," she breathed. "I guess we've confirmed you do have an admirer."

Sara wasn't sure how she felt about that.

He came back three days later and Sara wished he had been seated with Audrey, but it seemed every employee at the Hanging Garden had conspired and decided Big Tipper was hers. Sara appreciated good tippers. It always gave her some sense of satisfaction the rare times she got over sixteen percent off the bill, but the tip Big Tipper had left bordered on ridiculous. Actually, it went past that border and into ostentatious, really. Sara felt downright uncomfortable and she was suddenly acutely aware of herself when she caught sight of him entering the restaurant. She wasn't sure how she ought to behave at all. She didn't like this at all.

"Hello, and what would you like to drink today?" Sara said friendlily as she handed him a menu. She tried to act as normal as she could and hoped she was succeeding. She wasn't sure what she was expecting from him, but felt immensely relieved when he didn't act any different.

"Large black coffee, thank you."

And polite as ever.

* * *

Bruce wasn't sure what he was doing, but he had a feeling he was really just torturing himself and knew Alfred would disapprove if he knew why exactly Bruce had been crying off lunch half the time for the last week or so. He'd easily learned Sara Price had a long standing job at the little diner, the Hanging Garden, as well as at one of the local courthouses. The latter he learned she no longer worked at. Bruce did not doubt the reason had something to do with her association with Batman—which made it only harder to resist seeing her.

He had meant to visit her only that first time.

Bruce imagined she naturally had very fair coloring and so was usually on the pale side, but he could not help but think her face seemed to look a little dull in its pallor and it only made the dark circles underneath her eyes all the more noticeable. She had looked to him very, very tired. This had been his initial reasoning for coming a second time, to see if she had improved in her color. The third time he had justified with the fact he'd hardly seen her the second time since it had been so crowded and she was busy running around the restaurant.

It was the fourth time when he stopped making rationalizations.

He was well aware these visits were only torturing him more, but he couldn't help himself.

He was also well aware there was probably something very perverse, something very wrong in the fact he wanted so badly to hear her speak to him with something less than spite in her voice and expressions. He knew he did not deserve it, and yet he craved it at the same time. He wasn't sure why, but he recalled bitterly her words to him earlier and knew she was probably right. All of it, it really was just because he wanted to absolve his guilt. And still, that made him feel worse. It became a huge twisted circle of guilt and despair he didn't know how to break.

He only wanted to make things right. He just didn't know how. He didn't even know if he could. Something in him knew that he couldn't.

Bruce still kept going back.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Ahhh--school! The next chapter will be up either next week, or... in about six weeks. It really depends on how much I get done this week because afterwards, I will be away traveling the world without computer access for a month and when I come back, I jump right into examinations. So if the next chapter isn't up by next Friday, it means a long wait. :|

_other_: Cold? haha. You are probably right. I don't do warm and fuzzy very well. I've been trying to do a happy scene, but it's like pulling teeth for me. I do love the angst.

Thanks for reviewing! Feedback makes me happy. ;)


	5. A Short Term Effect

**Snakes and Ladders**_**  
Chapter Five: A Short Term Effect**_

_**

* * *

**_

Sara received the call in the early morning.

* * *

Bruce threw the file to the floor in disgust.

"Reading something interesting?" said Alfred dryly as he glanced at the papers scattered about the floor. He set down a tray with a mug of steaming coffee and a blueberry muffin.

"Corruption, greed, and not a thing Batman or the Commissioner can do," Bruce said with asperity. "I'm certain Lieutenant Peter Pauling is a puppet of Rupert Thorne, and it looks as though he's been accepting some bribes on the side. But god, Alfred, there's just not enough."

"You should give it a rest, Master Wayne," said Alfred. He handed Bruce the muffin who took it from him mindlessly. "You've been working yourself to death these last few weeks."

The words unsaid: since the day Batman entered Sara Price's life.

Bruce took a bite from muffin and a sip from the coffee as he glanced the time on his watch. He took another bite from the muffin and set both down back on the tray and stood up from his seat.

"You haven't lunched yet, have you?" asked Alfred.

"Actually," Bruce started.

"Not out again?" said Alfred, a disapproving note in his tone.

"I just happened to find a diner that makes the best coffee," said Bruce. He added quickly, "Not that there's anything wrong with yours. But they make it this certain way."

"You'll have to take me some time," said Alfred grudgingly.

"Will do, Alfred."

* * *

"You look a little pale, Sara," noted Julie with a frown. Sara didn't hear her and Julie's frown grew. "Sara," Julie called her name sharply, but the concern was there.

Sara looked up and smiled apologetically. "Sorry," she said. "I'm just out of it today."

Julie nodded her head but the frown remained.

* * *

"I'd like a large coffee, black. Thanks," said Bruce as he skimmed over the menu, deciding what to eat. His mouth set into a frown when he lifted his eyes to meet hers.

Sara's face was startlingly pale, even for her. She also seemed a little dazed as she wrote his order down. The act in itself was odd considering she hadn't written it down the last couple of times he'd been there. The pen stopped moving and she met Bruce's troubled gaze.

"Sorry," she said. She didn't look it. "What did you order again?"

"I didn't," said Bruce. His frown deepened.

"Oh, sorry," she repeated. She still didn't look it.

"Are you alright?" Bruce asked with concern.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just having a strange day," she said.

"You really don't look well," he insisted.

"Really, I'm perfectly fine," Sara assured him.

She smiled at him but it looked strange, frozen on her face. It took only a moment of decision and Bruce stood. Sara instinctively took a startled step back. The attempted smile fell from her face and she looked up at him with dazed uncertainty and wide, blinking eyes. Bruce smiled at her and she met his smile with a hesitant frown. And then he walked past her and Sara turned her head to follow his movements, watching with puzzlement as he walked over to Julie in the back.

"Hi, are you the manager here?" asked Bruce.

Julie stared at him suspiciously. "Yes, why? Is there something wrong?"

"No, everything's good. Everything's always perfectly fine here," he said to assuage her reservations. Julie's countenance did not change, resolute in its doubt, and Bruce continued on with what he had really wanted to talk to her about.

"It's just my server, she seems very ill. It's after the big lunch hours and I see you have another server here. I was just wondering if it was possible for you to let her off early," schmoozed Bruce with a lazy smile and outward concern for Sara in his voice.

Julie's frown relented and she glanced at Sara, who remained standing next to Bruce's table with continuing daze etched into her features. She was looking their way, but she didn't look as though she was really seeing them or even cared to know what they were discussing.

"I'm sorry about that," said Julie. "I can get you seated with Carrie right away."

"Oh no, that won't be necessary," Bruce said quickly. "I'll just come back another time. I offered her a ride home."

"Well…" started Julie hesitantly. Suspicion reignited in her face.

"Thank you for understanding," Bruce thanked her and before she could voice any of her objections, he easily made his way back to Sara. She lifted her gaze at him when he stood right in front of her. "I've just spoken to the manager and she agreed. You really look unwell and should go home."

"I should stay and work…" said Sara slowly, but her voice trailed when Julie walked up to her and handed Sara her purse from the back.

"Go home, Sara. You need rest," said Julie with finality. She stared at Bruce meaningfully and said, "It's kind of you to help her."

Bruce read her meaning. The woman was trusting Sara in his care, but she was letting him know she still held her suspicions against him. He was certain if anything did happen to Sara, she would have no objections describing him flawlessly to the police.

"Don't worry," said Bruce reassuringly. "I'm just dropping her off."

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Julie to Sara. She glanced to Bruce. "Goodbye, then," she said and walked back to her place in the back.

Sara nodded her head but she didn't look as though she really understood the meaning of the words. She let the purse dangle from her arm and walked out of the restaurant, not noticing Bruce trailing behind her until both had gone outside and he moved in to step in front of her.

"Excuse me for speaking so plainly, but you look awful," said Bruce.

She looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"Here, why don't you sit?" Bruce suggested. He placed a hand on the back of her shoulder and started to lead her to one of the many empty chairs from the tables in the front patio of the restaurant. She let him. And then—

His mind blanked.

Bruce didn't usually easily startle, but he was completely taken aback when she suddenly threw herself at him. She held one hand to the side of his face, pulling it down to hers. The other hand she placed on his shoulder, the tips of her fingers grazing the back of his neck. Her body pressed against his, and more distracting than the weight of her breasts pressing against his chest was her soft mouth pressing against his. Despite her bold actions and the intimacy of their situation, the kiss was surprisingly chaste.

And then the lips were gone.

She took a step back from him and Bruce watched as her eyes fluttered open.

She stared at him, no sign of embarrassment but a sense of surprise in her big brown eyes. She looked to him completely mystified but a degree of the indecipherable remained in her expression. It was hard to tell from simply glancing at her face if she was confused with his presence or with her impulsive move. Bruce speculated it had a bit of something to do with both.

"I'm sorry," she said, casting her eyes down. The corners of her mouth tugged into a bemused smile. "I don't know what came over me."

Sara shook her head as she started walking away before Bruce caught her by the elbow in a gentle grip. He released his hold when she turned back to him, countenance just as unreadable even in its uncertainty. Her eyebrows were drawn together and her mouth firmly set into a line, but other that, he couldn't gather much else.

"You really don't seem well," said Bruce, carefully enunciating his words. "Please, let me drop you off to your place."

She stared at him and he guessed that had she not been in such a strange condition, she would have rightfully declined. Instead, she let him lead her to his car, a total absence of fear of the unknown in her slow, dazed movements.

* * *

Why had she done that? Sara wasn't so sure herself, but knew there was a deep ache in her, a longing to be held by another human being. A longing to be comforted or simply touched. And he was so kind, had _always_ been so kind. And only kind, never imposing himself more than necessary, never tendering her secret leers or insinuations in his words—she felt nothing from him which made her feel uncomfortable. And he was there, a hand on her shoulder in a gentle touch, but that one gentle touch was the only thing she needed for her body to instinctively be prompted towards such warmth without her rational self holding herself back first.

He looked at her with concern mingled together with a quickly fading surprise. His dark eyes measured her seriously and Sara couldn't tell what he was thinking, but she still felt nothing more than kindness from him. She knew this was definitely a good thing because when she felt the touch of his hand to her arm again, she had to resist throwing herself back into his warmth. She was clearly insane and knew exactly how lucky she was. She supposed if he had been any other man, any single one of the customers who frequented Red York's, he would have happily taken further liberties on cue from her first move. Considering how crazy Sara was at the moment, she had a feeling she would have more than complied.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and the touch was so incredibly light but it burned. She stared at him and felt the incredible urge to kiss him again.

God. She was going insane.

Sara was so focused on stopping herself from throwing herself at him shamelessly that she did not realize he had been leading her to his car until he opened the passenger door and gestured at her to get in.

"Please, let me drop you off to your place," he explained, as though he was trying to reassure her there was nothing amiss in his intentions. If he only knew a part of her wished there was something amiss because she really, really wanted him to hold her. Sara wondered if it was the fact there only was gentleness and kindness in his actions which so desperately drew her to him. She wondered if she'd really feel such longing if it actually had been another man.

Sara got in the car. He asked for her address to put into the GPS screen on the front deck and she gave it to him without thinking. It didn't occur to her until after they were turning into one of the main streets close to her complex that it might not have been the wisest thing to give her address to a complete stranger. But then, he wasn't exactly a complete stranger. She made herself feel a little better by insisting to herself she knew him well enough to know his intentions were only good and innocent.

"Sorry, again," she said. "Thanks for the ride."

"It really isn't a problem. Are you sure you'll be fine? Can I do anything else?" he asked with a concern which Sara would have found unusual if her mind hadn't been already so preoccupied.

"No, thank you. You've done enough as it is."

She left his car and walked slowly to the front door of her apartment. Sara didn't look backwards, but she also didn't hear the roar of a car engine and so she knew he was still watching her. She grabbed her keys from her purse and jangled it around at the lock.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, and with that final action, he was completely forgotten.

The bubble of grief which had welled up inside her all day burst. Sara had not even realized it had been there until that moment. The immense dolor abruptly sweeping over her brought her to her knees. She had thought she was managing well ever since she had first received the news on the phone. She had not realized the strength of her heartbreak until she stepped foot into her home. She entered the door and it hit her no one would ever be waiting for her on the other side.

This was what it felt like to be the only person left in the world.

What was she going to do? Sara didn't know. Panic set in. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know anything anymore. All she knew was she had never been in so much suffocating pain before. Her body started to tremble all over and she wondered at that she wasn't bursting into tears considering the desperate sorrow blinding her mind. Her breaths started to fall faster, her heart beating faster than she'd ever felt it race before. Why wasn't she crying?

She tried to calm her racing heart. The rapidity of its beat was alarming and she tried to still it with a deep, calming breath. When she exhaled, her eyes fell closed and she collapsed to the floor.

* * *

He did not like this.

Something was very, very wrong. Bruce tried to keep his mind off of Sara, occupying the rest of his day with Batman-related matters. He looked at the new body armor Lucius had developed and decided it was certainly stronger than what he had now but a little too inconvenient to move around in. He tried to delve deeper into the corruptions of Rupert Thorne and only frustrated himself further when he could find nothing.

Alfred asked him multiple times what was on his mind and Bruce repeatedly answered nothing was wrong at all, but Alfred just gave him a look to show he didn't believe him at all. Bruce didn't blame him. He didn't sound convincing to his own ears.

Underneath it all, he found his mind constantly going back to Sara. Bruce couldn't quite throw the worry which pitted itself deep in his gut. Something was wrong and Bruce intended to find out what. Then, when his thoughts weren't all restless anxiety, one other thing lingered which both concerned him and brought to feeling some nervous lifting in him which he had thought he'd long forgotten.

When Bruce closed his eyes, he could still recall the sweetness of her lips against his.

He knew also this was wrong.

* * *

Sara's eyes opened and for a moment she was confused as to why she was lying down in front of the apartment door. It was only for a moment because the memories flooded back and she felt desperation filling her again. She stood and glanced at the time. It had been probably around one or so when Big Tipper had dropped her off. Now it was almost seven. She couldn't believe she had passed out for over five hours. She couldn't even believe she passed out, at all, but the mental calculations only lingered in her mind for another second before the overwhelming grief hit her again and she made her way to the kitchen.

She poured shot after shot, taking each one so quickly and completely her college friends would have been proud. Sara didn't bother keeping count of how many she was taking, instead, pouring another in between shivers from shooting down the last one. Pain was eating her and she wanted urgently not to be sober, not to be in her right mind of state.

Vodka burned on the way down but it wasn't working. She could still feel it, everything. In fact, Sara was certain it was making her more miserable instead of less, which went completely went against the reason she had forced herself to handle the burn.

Before the vodka, she had been in agony. Now she was in agony and a little queasy. It wasn't a better place to be. She didn't even feel very drunk, just very, very sick. She tried to get rid of the queasy aspect, spending an undetermined amount of time in front of the toilet, poking a finger at her throat in a pitiful attempt to relinquish the nauseous parts of her stomach. It was a wholly unsuccessful attempt and she ended up stumbling back to her bed in just as much misery.

Another day in the life of Sara Price. A call from the hospital informing her of her father's untimely demise, a shift at the Hanging Garden, throwing herself at a random stranger, drinking away her sorrows with lukewarm success or make that none, oh, and being stalked by Batman.

"You again," she said drunkenly. Batman was just the capper to an already crappy day, and Sara really didn't want to deal with him just now if she had to ever. She didn't even want him in her sight and so she covered her face with her hands. "Why are you… Don't you have things to do? People to save? People to kill?"

"I was in the area."

"As always," she said. Sara had meant the words to come out snidely, but when she heard the disconnected words in her own ears, she didn't think they sounded any shade of snide, just tired and accepting. It made her feel all the more pathetic and she said quietly, "I wish you would leave."

She couldn't see him because her hands still rested over her eyes, but she hoped he had gone. Batman was good at disappearing away quietly, so she wouldn't have been surprised if he had gone and she didn't hear a thing.

But, of course. He had not.

"How much did you drink?"

"Apparently not enough," she shot back. A wave of nausea swept over her again and she shivered with discomfort. She wanted to throw up but she wasn't sure how. And he was still there. She couldn't see him, but the rough words from someone not her dismissed any hopes that he had gone. He was still there.

Sara felt indignant at the thought. What right had he to come and go as he pleased? She shouldn't _have_ to deal with him at all. She sat up abruptly and the motion swept another particularly strong wave of nausea throughout her. Sara dug her fingers into the blankets in a futile effort to still the dizziness.

"Say, Batman. You wouldn't happen to be Catholic, would you?" Sara made sure to put as much spite as she could in her voice and said, "Because you have the Catholic guilt nabbed down to a tee."

Except, he was gone and Sara was irritated he had gone before she could throw more angry words at him. Then he came back into the room a few seconds later and she was even more irritated he was still there. She glared at him when he held a glass of water out to her.

"Drink this," he commanded.

"No," she said just to be contrary, because she actually did want the water.

He shoved it more forcefully in her direction and she made a reluctant show of taking it, complete with a scowl and a suspicious examination of the glass. Yes, goddamn it, she wanted the water, but like hell she was going to be grateful about it. If Batman was affected at all with her childish antics, he didn't show it, continuing standing tall and stoic in the shadows of her room.

Sara finally took a sip from the glass. She swallowed and then hastily dropped the glass to her bed stand, bolting out of her bed. She flung the bathroom door open and managed to make it to the toilet as she threw up. She gagged a few more times before she stood and rinsed out her mouth at the sink.

"What the fuck," she said aloud. Batman wasn't in her sight, but she was certain he could hear her. She didn't get a reply until she turned off the bathroom light and stepped into the hallway, keeping her palm against the wall to hold the weight her weak knees could not. He stood at the end, next to her bedroom door.

"Saltwater," he told her. Then, "It's dangerous to drink so much."

"Thank you for saving my life from alcohol poisoning," she said with gracious sarcasm. "I guess that makes us even. Goodbye."

He stared at her as she walked past him into her room. She paused, turned a backwards glance at him and said, "That was your cue to leave."

And so he did.

She stumbled her way back into her cold bed. She was beginning to feel much better after throwing up. There was still the slight veil of drunkenness over her mind but it did not take away her mind and she still felt the unhappiness surge as strongly as before. Sara wanted to cry but no matter how hard she tried, the tears would not come.

Sara curled into a ball, wrapping herself in the blanket of her misery. She wasn't sure what she wanted, but she was certain she was going mad. Her heart pounded furiously to the point where the desperate thuds were giving her a headache. There was also a crazy aching in her chest and she was sure it wasn't from her still healing rib. Her fractured rib had never quite hurt like this. She wanted to go back to a state of unconsciousness, but she knew no longer how long she spent in bed, she would not fall asleep for a long, long time. Her little ladylike faint earlier had foreseen to that.

This was misery in its truest form.

She didn't know what to get rid of it. Apparently alcohol didn't quite do the trick, leaving her only worse off. The weight of the sadness was unbearable. Sara would have done anything to get rid of it. She couldn't stand it anymore.

She didn't know exactly when or how the light went off, but it did in a sudden blaze which had her moving with an energy made wholly from desperation. She threw on her jacket and ran out the door, without a glance to the mirror, knowing full well what a horror she must have looked. She continued running down the streets, past people who gave her strange looks, but Sara paid them no mind. She made her way quickly to little deserted alley behind Red York's and made the call on her cell phone.

"Hello?" answered the chirpy voice on the other line.

"It's Sara. Could you come out for a bit? I'm in the back," Sara quickly replied before she closed her phone. A few moments later, the back door of the bar opened and Laurel stepped out, confusion on her face and hesitance in her movements.

"Sara? What are you…?" she started, frowning when she noticed the state of Sara's appearance.

"My father died," said Sara simply.

"Oh, Sara honey," said Laurel softly. She looked like she wasn't sure what to say and Sara waved away her awkward sympathy. She went straight into the real reason she had called Laurel, something she had always suspected in the back of her mind but had chosen not to believe because she did not want to believe such an ugly thing of Laurel. But, it did not seem so ugly to her anymore.

"You're on something," said Sara, though not accusingly. "I know that's the only reason you're with Benny."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," said Laurel doubtfully.

"I don't care," said Sara.

"Sara," said Laurel.

"Laurel, please. _God_. I just… I have money. I just don't want to feel this anymore."

Laurel regarded her with an inscrutable expression before she nodded her head slowly and said, "I can get off in an hour."

Relief and hope filled Sara.

"I'll wait," she said. It was a promise.

* * *

Jim Gordon did not like Peter Pauling. It would have been apt to say he even disdained the man. Pauling epitomized the sort of cop Gordon couldn't stand and if Thorne did get the mayoralty as he certainly aspired, Gordon did not doubt in a blink of an eye, the seat of commissioner would be given over to the Pauling at his expense. If Pauling had been such a man worthy, Gordon would have been more than happy to give up his position.

Peter Pauling was not such a man.

Still, as much as he disliked Pauling, Gordon had not wished him dead. He wanted justice, not a perversion of it. Currently, he was looking the latter in the face.

Lieutenant Peter Pauling was tied to the flagpole in front of the station, a thick red hood covering his head. His body was unnervingly still and when the coroner lifted the hood from the head, everybody gasped at the ghastly sight of Pauling's face immortalized in fear, but nobody was truly surprised.

Gordon had his Pauling problem solved, but now it looked as though he had another, more important one.

He heard the whispers from the side and Gordon resisted the urge to shout _No_.

"Is it the work of Batman?"

Somebody else, Gordon was too transfixed with the gruesome sight in front of him to really note who, said in response to the mutterings, "It's not his M.O."

"We've got another freak," said another.

They could say that again.

* * *

She had initially scrutinized the plastic container Laurel had given her with suspicion. She shifted two of the little white pills onto her palm and stared at them with a frown. Sara had never done anything wilder than alcohol, and she had always disdained drugs and those who used them. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting Laurel to give her, but she sure wasn't expecting these harmless looking tablets which looked no different from aspirin to her eyes. Laurel had assured her it was a particularly strong dosage of morphine and she told her to take two but no more than four if she wanted to feel anything.

Sara didn't even know what she was supposed to feel. She didn't know how she would know if she was feeling anything and Laurel just smiled at her and said she would definitely know when it was working. Sara would have to take her word for it.

She popped them in her mouth and washed them down with water.

It was done. They were in her system. She had broken a promise she had made to herself a long time ago and she didn't much care.

Laurel was right. Sara couldn't name the exact moment they had started working, but after a few minutes she was very aware of the fact that what she had taken was definitely not aspirin. Her heart steadied to a slow, rhythmic beat, and her body relaxed. The frenzied emotions which had been taking over her came to a drastic calm. Her mind began to numb and she found her thoughts were no longer racing wildly all over the place.

Sara plopped down into her bed.

Her body felt weightless, but no. She sank into her mattress heavily, so it wasn't quite that. Sara breathed in deeply and she discovered it wasn't her body which had become weightless, it was her soul. It felt free, tethered to her sinking body only by the slightest string. Her mind focused wholly on the pleasant sensation without even any active encouragement on her part. The thrumming sensation transpired at every single point of her body simultaneously. She marveled at her legs and arms, hands and feet, fingers and toes, how each felt as though they were descending deeper and deeper underwater, and yet how the weightless part of each cell separated itself from the heavy, floating and rising higher as everything else sank. Deeper… higher… deeper and higher…

Sara had an epiphany.

This was what it meant to be happy, to be perfectly at peace. She had never felt such tranquility, such ease. This was what it was like to think of nothing at all, and she didn't think there was anything nearly as wonderful. A part of her wished she had discovered this earlier, but the regret didn't stick with her very long, only coming to her in the briefest of afterthoughts.

It didn't matter in any case because she had found it now.

This was true happiness.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So I'm cool enough to write alcohol, but definitely not cool enough to write drugs. So... my available knowledge comes from books/TV/movies and the few times I've been dosed after wisdom teeth surgery. So... yes. Probably (definitely) Sara's drug experiences aren't completely accurate. However, the drug chapters don't last long.

Also, concerning how Bruce is not recognized at the diner. The way I see it, I think he's universally recognized by the higher echelons of society, but I think if you put him in casual clothes and stick him in the general popular, especially the lower ends, he'd be able to get away without necessarily being called out as "Bruce Wayne" right away. Also, it works for this fic. ;)

This is also the last chapter in the arc of this fanfic I like to call "How to Completely Ruin&Devastate Sara's Life" which is to be followed by "Denial is a River in Egypt (and Sara's not the only one swimming in it)". However, the next update will not be for the next six weeks, at least. As I said earlier, I am completely MIA for a month and when I come back, I have finals right away. I actually wasn't going to post this chapter until right when I got back, but I figured, a long wait would happen regardless so I might as well put it out now.

As always, thanks for reviewing and enjoy! Feedback makes me happy. :)


	6. Catch

**Snakes and Ladders**_**  
Chapter Six: Catch**_

_**

* * *

**_"The Red Hood," said Bruce, his voice blank, void of anger or even disgust, as it likely would have been. He felt tired in a way he hadn't felt for a long time, not since the hellish days under the Joker. The last two weeks he'd spent digging up whatever scraps he could on Pauling and Thorne, feeling the boundaries of his anger getting tested with each new thing he learned on the latter but was helpless to change.

One of the biggest roots of corruption in the station was now gone, and with his main line into the station out of commission, Thorne would have to regroup and temporarily cease to be a problem. But things were never so simple and Bruce found one problem simply exchanged for another potentially more dangerous one. He also did not doubt Thorne would worm himself in another way soon enough. Such a man would not disappear off the circuit so easily.

Bruce glanced at his watch. It was only half past ten and the Hanging Garden didn't open until eleven. He got up anyway and looked for his jacket. Alfred held it up with a disapproving look on his face.

"You went out just yesterday," said Alfred suspiciously as Bruce took the jacket from him.

"Did I?" said Bruce, but he knew, and Alfred knew he knew. Then Bruce wondered just exactly how much Alfred knew, but Alfred made a noise in the back of his throat and said nothing more.

Bruce took the keys off the hook. He had to go see about a girl.

* * *

Sara had done an excellent job of forgetting about the other day because just seconds after Carrie flipped the open sign, the chimes jingled as a customer entered the restaurant and Sara nearly died, her heart jumping to her throat when she caught sight of _him_. She turned away quickly and dodged to the back. Memories flooded her mind in a rush and her cheeks burned. She had landed him one when he'd least expected it. How could she have completely forgotten? And why in God's name did she even do that in the first place? And even then—why was he back?

"Carrie," said Sara. "Can you take this one?"

"Nuh-uh," the other girl said automatically. "He's all yours." Carrie gave a conspiring touch to her arm. In her strange way, Carrie was rooting for her, even despite the good-natured envy when she had first learned from Audrey that Big Tipper had apparently a thing for Sara.

Sara was just about to convince her to take him anyway, but Julie went up to them, looking a mite irritated, and told her in a resolute command not to keep the customer waiting. Sara's stomach sank but she walked out to the floor, steeling herself together and resolving to get through it without bringing too much embarrassment to herself. She decided to act as if nothing had ever happened and hopefully he would behave the same. He certainly proved the other day he could behave in a kind and gentlemanly manner.

She thought it was going swimmingly well because when she took his order he didn't look at her any differently than usual, no weird looks at all and just as much politeness as ever. Sara went to the back to place his order with a heavy sigh of relief. There was nothing to worry about at all. The day was fantastic. Her life was fantastic. She felt so fantastic she was almost humming when she went back to his table to bring out his usual coffee.

And then he lifted his eyes to her with a little quirk in his lips and she knew she had counted her chickens too early. It was a pleasant little quirk, but it was also a suspicious little quirk. Sara looked away from his gaze and awkwardly set down his coffee, hoping he would say whatever he had to say as quickly and as painlessly for her as possible.

"We've gotten past the first kiss but we haven't had the first date. I feel we ought to remedy this unfortunate situation," he said gravely.

The words immediately brought up her head and she stared at him with wide doe-yes. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that. She blinked as he casually added sugar and cream to his coffee, and then Sara couldn't help but smile.

"You're funny," she said, lowering her eyes.

"You mean charming," he corrected. He waggled his eyebrows at her and Sara could feel her smile inadvertently grow.

"You're very nice," she said with genuine feeling. She forced away the smile and tried to look as serious as possible. It was time for the games to end. "Thanks for everything, but I keep it a rule to separate my work life and personal life."

He looked undeterred by her rejection, simply shrugging his shoulders and breathing out an exaggerated sigh. He gave a show of thoughtfulness and said, "Well I can just stop coming here. Ah—is that a smile I see?"

"Really, I appreciate it," said Sara. She tried to still her smile but it was hard not smile back at him. The whole situation made her feel like another girl at another place in another time. Except Sara wasn't that girl, and she knew she couldn't pretend otherwise. "As flattered as I am, I'm just... it's not a good time for me. You're a handsome man. I'm sure you have no trouble with picking up dates from plenty of pretty girls."

"Now, how can you say that when I'm having trouble with this one," he pointed out. Sara almost couldn't believe the man and how many quips he had to everything she said. He seemed to pick up on her weariness because he grinned and cajoled, "Just one date."

"I just don't think it's a good idea," she said, trying to sound firm. Sara doubted she was doing a good job of success because she could feel the smile tugging at her lips despite her best efforts to suppress it into a frown. It was hard for her to keep the solemn façade in front of him. He was just so kind and friendly; it was contagious.

"If it doesn't go well, then we can forget about the whole thing. No awkwardness. I'll still come round, and it'll be as if it never happened," he said, sounding so sure of himself. He smiled appealingly and added, "But if it goes well, then, we'll see."

"I really don't…" the words trailed off helplessly. Longing stirred in her. It was so tempting. _Say yes._ She wanted to, but she couldn't. She wasn't that girl, no matter how much she wanted to be.

"It doesn't even have to be a real date," he spoke in place of her. "It can be casual. What are you doing after work tomorrow?"

"Okay. Fine," she finally relented. She could easily switch her evening shift at Red York's to the next night. One date would be enough. For him to realize she was nothing special and that she wasn't worth it.

"I'm Bruce, by the way," he said.

"Like Bruce Wayne," Sara quipped. She finally had a name for the face which had become a regular part of her life within the last two weeks, and the name was fitting. She regarded his good looks and imagined Gotham's prince was probably not half so handsome.

"Exactly," said Bruce, the strangest sort of smile curving his lips.

Humor dropped from her and Sara felt in that moment a certain pull to him and his smile. She didn't understand but it seemed that one smile opened the door to another side of him she had not picked up on before. It surprised her how much her interest piqued in those seconds, and it surprised her then how much she was suddenly truly looking forward to the next day, no matter how it ended.

The moment of realization was quickly put to an early death.

"My god! Another freak," Carrie exclaimed and both Bruce and Sara turned their heads to her. She blushed when she took in their stares and the customer she was serving turned towards them and lifted the paper in his hand.

"The papers are calling him the Red Hood," said the man holding the newspaper, disgust on his face. "Look what that Batman started. Cop-killer. Another insane vigilante on our streets! Feel sorry for that Pauling's folks."

Sara froze. If she hadn't had her eyes trained to the newspaper in the raving man's hand, she would have noticed Bruce had stilled in his seat. All jokiness and fun fled from his face to be replaced with a grim frown. He stared intently at Sara but she did not take any notice.

"Pauling, did you say?" Sara echoed.

"Lieutenant Peter Pauling," the man told her, reading directly from the paper. "Found dead, tied to the flagpole, a red hood shrouding his face."

She paled. After her experience with the wretched man, Sara had seethed with anger and wished the worst things upon him. The sort of things she wished… She had thought then she wanted him dead. She was wrong. He was dead now, and she did not feel happy at all. She felt sick. This found this was not she wanted at all. This was wrong. She wondered if this was what Batman had done when he killed those people. Pauling was certainly a bastard, but she could not think of anything to rationalize him deserving _this_. Sara understood so clearly then: she had traded Andrew's life for a murderer's, no matter how good his intentions, it didn't change anything. Murder was murder.

"Did you know him?" asked Bruce and Sara turned back to him, snapped out of her thoughts.

"No," she answered weakly, shaking her head. "Not at all."

"So when do you get off tomorrow?" he said to change the topic.

"Three," said Sara. Shock was still impressed in her features even as she tried to recover her bearings.

"I'll pick you up then. And in case you decide to make an early escape, I'll have you know your address is preprogrammed into my GPS," said Bruce, sounding very suave. She looked at him, astonished for a moment before she began to chuckle. He was trying to lighten the atmosphere, lighten her heavy thoughts, and he was succeeding.

"It seems you're quite the stalker," she said matter-of-factly.

"I've had practice," he replied. He winked at her and she laughed again.

She wasn't that girl but for one day, she could be.

* * *

Bruce left the Hanging Garden with a smile on his lip and a whistle in his steps.

Since the last night when he had found her recklessly inebriated, he couldn't wait for the next day to come soon enough. Batman had done what he could and it irked him there was little more else he could do but wait to see how she was doing in the guise of a customer the day after. But, she _had_ kissed him, and so he had something to work with in terms of furthering their interaction. Possible conversation openers turned in his mind, and he came up with a few that would be harmless for both. He had picked a winner by the time he sat down, and then she came to his table and he was so shell-shocked for a moment, he forgot what he had decided to say and instead numbly ordered as usual.

He recovered by the time she returned and the words slipped out of his mouth before he really thought about the ramifications. From then, he felt the distinct need to follow through no matter how insistent he would have to be.

There was nothing of a hint in his original intentions to ask her out on a date, especially so insistently. It was simply that he'd gone in and much to his surprise, he saw a good wash of color in her face, a brightness to her face he'd never seen before, and the gentlest of smiles hovering at her lips. He went to see how she was looking and found her looking pretty and so appealing. It was irresistible. He couldn't help himself. He ignored the warning signs going off in his head and proceeded to procure a promise of a date.

That she didn't know who he was only put the cherry on top. He saw there, opportunity. He would not be Batman, caped crusader and Gotham's renegade vigilante. He would not be billionaire playboy prince Bruce Wayne. He would simply be Bruce. Nothing sounded sweeter.

* * *

"You look nice," said Audrey pleasantly as the both of them changed out of their work shirts in the employee room. "Special occasion?"

"A date later," said Sara. She folded her shirt and stuffed it in her bag. Sara yawned, stretching out her arms and arching her back. She felt tired and wasn't sure if she was eager to see Bruce or dreading the likely catastrophe of a date. The nicest thing, she supposed, was she wasn't going to be at Red York's tonight. Even if she was only postponing the shift and would have to do it tomorrow anyway, that was something she always dreaded.

"With Big Tipper?" Audrey asked, eyebrows raised.

"Mm. See you tomorrow," said Sara, about to step out of the room.

Audrey stared at her aghast and she hastily pulled Sara back inside amid her protests.

"Wait, what are you doing?" said Sara, tugging her arm back from Audrey, who ignored her and forced her down into one of the chairs.

Audrey grabbed a little make-up bag from her purse.

"Close your eyes," she ordered.

"I thought you said I looked nice," said Sara.

"You don't look _that_ nice," said Audrey dryly.

"Gee thanks," said Sara, but she closed her eyes and let Audrey did whatever she wished to do to her face. She felt her sweeping something over her eyelids and cheeks before Audrey's attention went elsewhere. Sara opened her eyes in alarm as Audrey pulled her hair out of her ponytail. "What—" she started irately.

"You have such pretty hair. Why would you leave it up? How does that make any sense?" said Audrey, running her fingers through the mass of Sara's pale blonde. She changed the part slightly off to the side and Sara resisted the urge to part it back down the middle. She wasn't used to this different distribution of weight.

"Satisfied?" said Sara when Audrey stepped away and didn't force Sara back down into the chair when she stood up.

Audrey started to take her shirt back off.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Sara cried.

"Nothing," said Audrey. She handed Sara her shirt and pulled her Hanging Garden shirt back on. "Mine just happens to be a little better."

"I resent that," said Sara, but she changed that, too, anyway.

"You'll thank me later," said Audrey.

Sara ignored her, rushing to the front. She was supposed to be out five minutes ago. She raised her hand when she saw Bruce.

"Hey," he said as she stepped outside.

Sara tried a smile. She felt incredibly awkward. This was out of her comfort zone. She tried to remember what it was like to date, but what she remembered seemed so juvenile to her now. Fun, but the boys she'd gone out with were nothing like Bruce. For one, they were either still running in the teens or barely touched twenty, and though Sara didn't know how old Bruce was, she was certain he had to have been well into his twenties. The age itself wouldn't have mattered so much to her except he carried with him a certain degree of self-awareness which made her feel very young, and usually Sara felt so much older than her years.

"Hi," she said.

"You look nice," he said.

"Thanks. You too," she returned the compliment. She followed him to his car and let him open the door for her. She was not surprised. Bruce was a perfect gentleman. The only problem was Sara wasn't sure how to deal with gentlemen.

She chewed on her lip, staring straight ahead at the road and trying hard to listen to the music. They had standard weather-type conversation in stilted bouts for the first minutes before both died down to nothing. Awkward. Everything was so awkward, and she tried to remember what it was like the last time she was in this car, but she found she could hardly remember it at all. But she had the feeling it could not have been so awkward.

They passed the Gotham city limits sign a little while ago and the city had become the backwater country. A sudden thought came to her, making her almost smile. She glanced at him. "You're not going to take me out to some field and kill me, are you? Because people back at the Hanging Garden know last they saw me is with you. And we have your credit card information, you know."

"How would you? I always pay cash," said Bruce.

Sara realized he was right. "Huh."

"There's a festival of some sorts going on out here, but I thought maybe it'd be some fun."

"To make fun of?" said Sara automatically. And then she wanted to hit herself.

"Or that," he said.

"Sorry. I don't know why I said that. Well, actually I do. I get a little mean when I'm nervous, a sort of defense mechanism. It's a bad habit of mine," she said, her cheeks coloring.

"I didn't notice," he said. Sara frowned. She couldn't really tell if he was being sarcastic or genuinely didn't notice how nervous she was, but Bruce didn't seem upset or annoyed with her at all. Sara studied him for one more second before she stared back out at the road, feeling like she was going to burst. She took a deep breath and then she realized it did not matter.

"Okay, I'm going to just warn you now. It's been a while since I've done this whole date thing. A really, really long time," Sara admitted quickly. She couldn't forestall the humiliation any longer. She glanced at Bruce and was surprised to see no real change in his expression. He looked a little thoughtful, but in her opinion, when he wasn't trying to a coax a laugh from her, he always looked a little thoughtful.

"It's been a while for me," he said finally. He kept his eyes to the road and thus, didn't catch the disbelieving look she gave him.

"Somehow I don't believe that," said Sara. She continued with good humor, "Let me quote a fellow employee at the Hanging Garden: _ohmygod_ he is so ridiculously good-looking."

An amused smile played at his lips and Sara was surprised when she felt something tug at her heart. She felt her heart suddenly flutter at his smile; he also emanated a sort of gentle, contemplative strength which endeared him to her even more. Audrey and Carrie had always fawned dreamily about what a catch he was, but Sara never really got it until that moment. It felt as though a veil had lifted and she saw him as he was in all his dark attractiveness and she couldn't completely understand why he was even bothering with her. It didn't make any sense to her at all. She felt very, very small.

"So you think I'm ridiculously good-looking?" he asked, bringing Sara's attention back to him.

A smile was lilting his lips. Sara sighed exaggeratedly and said with as solemn a face she could muster, "I wouldn't have said yes otherwise."

"Ouch," he said.

"Don't worry. It's a good thing, because even if you're deathly boring, your looks will carry you far. I'm that shallow," she reassured him.

He glanced at her through the side in an inquisitive sort of look and a soft smile which made her melt all the more. This was it.

Sara was in danger.

* * *

Bruce was in danger.

From her sarcastic barbs to Batman, bitter though they were, he had an inkling that she'd probably have a sense of humor. He didn't foresee how enjoyable it could be, how nice it sounded when it wasn't laced with an acerbic edge. She also carried an understated independence quiet enough to miss if one wasn't carefully looking and a light playfulness in her tone of voice and movements.

Bruce liked her and he wasn't even trying to.

He knew she kept stealing looks at him, but was clearly determined not to be found out, and so he let her have his ignorance. Half the time, her face when she stole looks to him was unreadable. The other half, she looked either lost or what he would have to say wistful. He wasn't sure which was better, or if either was good at all.

There was also the constant ringing in his head: _wrong wrong wrong_. This was all wrong.

It feared him how easy he found it to ignore.

Bright lights from a Ferris wheel caught their attention and he slowed the car, pulling into the front of the shoddy looking carnival. It wasn't exactly first class, but he wanted to do something a little more interactive than a movie or show, but also, he didn't want to be recognized as Bruce Wayne anytime soon.

"I'm impressed," she said, looking around her. There was an assortment of obviously portable rides, including the Ferris wheel, but the bulk of the space was covered with game and food stands.

A chattering group walking past pushed her by and she tripped into Bruce, who steadied her to her feet.

"It was this or the zoo," said Bruce.

"I meant about the showing, actually," said Sara.

"I wouldn't have been offended. As surprising as it may be, I actually wanted to talk with you."

"You're giving me too much credit. I'm not that interesting," she said. She pursed her lips into a mischievous grin. "Or, you're giving yourself too much credit if you plan on telling me your life story. You don't look that interesting, either."

"But you do think I'm ridiculously good-looking," said Bruce.

"Good-looking people usually aren't very interesting. They don't need to be."

"I see you have much faith in the world."

Sara smiled in response but there was a bitter edge to her lips that had not been there earlier, and Bruce wished he had not said that at all.

"You two make a very good-looking couple!" a man with a microphone interrupted them, stepping a little closer to them than either of them would have liked. He was dressed in garish colors and an unnecessary pair of zebra-print sunglasses. He carried a large stereo in one hand and the microphone in the other.

Sara and Bruce exchanged matching looks, but they remained still.

"I am DJ Marks and this is a competition of sorts, brought to you by 81.7 KRF Music, you could win a free romantic dinner at the Roadhouse, a very nice steakhouse just a few miles down the freeway," said the man. He grinned at them. "It's very easy. I'm just going to play some songs I'm sure you've heard and all you have to do is name the artist and title."

"Do you want to give it a go?" said Bruce.

"Uh, sure," said Sara, shrugging. "Why not?"

"That's the spirit!" chimed DJ Marks, a little too loudly, and both Sara and Bruce cringed. He then played a song, vaguely familiar to Bruce but not one he could exactly place.

"Coldplay," said Sara.

"Ah, right," said Bruce in recognition of the singer's voice.

"Good job, miss. Now what song?" asked DJ Marks.

Sara was silent. Bruce could not help her.

"Well, that's alright. That was Viva la Vida, and here's the next one."

Sara and Bruce listened for a few moments before Bruce spoke up. "Live Your Life," he said. He'd heard the song before and the title was fairly easy considering they kept repeating it over and over again.

"Who's the artist?"

"Rihanna," said Sara. Her voice was distinctive enough.

"Well, she's featured, but she's not the artist."

"50 Cent?" Bruce guessed.

DJ Marks looked disgusted with the both of them. Then he picked up his stereo and walked away without another word, searching for other couples wandering around. Bruce and Sara both watched him with matching expressions of astonishment.

"Well. I guess we lost," said Sara.

"I guess so," said Bruce.

He sneaked a glance to Sara from the side and both started laughing.

"I work a lot. I don't really have the time to keep up with all this new stuff. What's your excuse?" said Sara.

"I don't really listen to much music for lack of time," admitted Bruce. "When I do, I just end up listening to the old faithfuls."

"Me too," said Sara.

"Like what?" he asked curiously.

She colored and he raised an eyebrow at her reaction.

"Well, my dad was a huge rock aficionado so I grew up on it. Some of it, maybe not so good, but I love it anyway," explained Sara.

"Try me," said Bruce.

"Just stuff," said Sara. She cleared her throat. "Like Aerosmith and Van Halen. Black Sabbath. Led Zeppelin. You know."

"What's your favorite Led Zeppelin album?"

"Two," said Sara immediately.

"Three," said Bruce.

"You listen to Led Zeppelin?"

"My father was more of a Beatles man, but I received my fair share of lessons on the holy fingers of Jimmy Page," said Bruce, thinking of Alfred. He quirked his lips. "You really listen to Van Halen? Why?"

"Have you ever heard Runnin' With the Devil? Genius," she said.

"Well it's a good thing I didn't take you to the opera."

* * *

"So."

"So?"

"Do I get a second date?" asked Bruce.

Sara didn't say anything. She looked at him, speculative but silent.

"I like Led Zeppelin, might rethink my position on their best album for your favor. Won you a stuffed animal. Got you a snow cone _and_ cotton candy. You think I'm ridiculously good-looking…"

"You're not going to stop, are you?" she said, a smile hovering over her lips.

"Probably not, no," said Bruce unabashedly and her smile grew.

"Hm," said Sara. "Thanks for the night, Bruce. I had fun."

"Surprised, aren't you?"

"Bye, Bruce. I'll see you later," said Sara, and she unlocked her door before stepping inside.

"Should I take that as a yes?" asked Bruce.

"However you'd like," said Sara and the door closed shut.

Bruce smiled.

He approached half-way to his car before he halted in his steps and turned back. He knocked on her door.

She opened it and looked at him inquisitively.

"I forgot something," said Bruce.

"Oh?" she said, her brows drawn in confusion.

He leaned in to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. She closed her eyes, her hands lifting to his chest as she let herself be drawn in deeper. And then Sara broke the kiss and stared at him.

"Okay, just one thing," she said.

"What is it?" asked Bruce.

"I lied earlier, about the defense mechanism part. I'm just not nice, period," said Sara, lifting her eyes to him in a direct gaze.

"It's alright," said Bruce softly. "I don't like nice girls, just good ones."

"I'm not that, either," she assured him, shaking her head.

"I beg to differ," said Bruce, but Sara didn't hear him. She was too busy pulling him into another kiss.

* * *

"You seem to be in a good mood, Master Wayne." Alfred looked pleased.

"I got the second date," said Bruce.

"So you were out on a first?" Now Alfred just looked puzzled.

Bruce grinned.

"This doesn't have anything to do with your lunch outings, does it?" And then suspicious again.

Bruce shrugged.

Alfred looked at him thoughtfully.

"What's it, Alfred?" Bruce prompted him.

"When did you meet this mysterious girl of yours?" said Alfred curiously, accompanied with more than twinge of confusion.

Bruce's smile froze and dropped for an instant, before he quickly recovered it. Alfred knew him too well, however, and the one instant was all he needed.

"Master Wayne," said Alfred darkly, a cloud taking hold of the elderly man's face. He looked displeased. Very, very much so. "You can't be…"

"It just happened, Alfred. I only went to visit her once," said Bruce.

Alfred was frowning inordinately now.

"This can't end well. You do know this, Master Wayne?"

"I don't know, Alfred. It just happened. She's… she doesn't even know who I am. And she's funny and amusing. This is the first time I've felt anything like this since Rachel."

The severe expression on Alfred's face softened somewhat, but the displeasure remained. He finally released the signaling sigh which let Bruce know even despite his disapproval, Alfred wouldn't make further argument.

He said only one last thing.

"There's nothing _I_ can do, but be careful not to mistake sympathy for love."

"It's not just that, and I don't love her. I just want to know her better," said Bruce, and he meant it. There were very few people who Bruce knew. Bruce loved Gotham, but becoming Batman… it created a certain divide, an impenetrable wall in his mind. There was Alfred, Lucius, Gordon. There had been Rachel, but now she was gone. Everyone else was either a criminal or a citizen and he wanted to protect the latter and he would give his life a million times if he had to, but they were still on the other side of that wall—an idea, a notion. Sara had become real. And he wanted to know her.

Alfred stared at him doubtfully. Bruce pretended not to see the look and instead jumped straight to business.

"Time to suit up, Alfred. The night is young."

* * *

On the other side of Gotham, Sara poured a glass of water from the kitchen before she took it to her room. Then she let two white pills take her away.

Bliss.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

And I am back! And with a non-angsty chapter to make up for all the angst! And boy was this strange and hard for me to write. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up as I still have three more weeks of exams and I have yet to even start it, but hopefully sooner than later.

As always, thanks for reviewing! It's always appreciated. :)


	7. From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea

**Snakes and Ladders**_**  
Chapter Seven: From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea**_

_**

* * *

**_It was the noise of the door striking the wall as it was swung open with more force than necessary which jolted Sara out of her blank daze. Audrey stepped in with some haste, no doubt fresh from one of Julie's lectures for clocking in late again. She set her purse in the lockers and said, "Hey Sara" as she readjusted her shirt and apron over her waist. At the same time, Sara took out her possessions and tugged her hair out of its frazzled ponytail.

"Hey," Sara returned, running fingers through her blonde hair. She turned her head at the sound of the door opening again and greeted Carrie as she joined the two girls in the room.

"You guys know that one woman, curly platinum blonde hair—the one with the twin girls? Oh my god. If that woman comes in here one more time I am going to scream," Carrie immediately started ranting. It was clear she was making no move to get either ready to work or ready to leave but had really only come in for their company.

"Oh I do know who you're talking about," said Sara. She winced, recalling a recent memory of dealing with the same fussy customer. "You're pulling another double today?"

"Yeah—you know, I don't think that woman's ever happy. I don't think she even knows what happy means," Carrie continued on her tirade.

"Mm," murmured Sara in agreement. She turned her wrist to glance at the time and ever perceptive, Audrey caught the action with an arched look.

"So how's everything going with Big Tipper?" asked Audrey slyly.

"Oh yeah, how is that going?" Carrie's irritation instantly vanished as though it had never been there. In its place was eager curiosity and Sara found she much preferred the unhappy grumblings of an abused server.

"His name isn't Big Tipper. It's Bruce," Sara informed them with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. She tucked her purse under her arm. "And Bruce should be here any moment now to pick me up for our date."

Carrie and Audrey both went quiet. Sara stared at them, puzzled with their sudden silence. She had recently grown an occasional tendency to zone out during conversations, but she had not become so oblivious not to notice the very distinct change in the air.

"What?" she asked, mouth tugging into a bemused smile as she forgot for a second her earlier urgency to go out to the front in case Bruce had already arrived. "What is it?"

Carrie furrowed her brows. She looked very flustered and opened and closed her mouth a few times before she finally started, "Wait—that's Bruce—_Ow_!" Carrie tossed Audrey a glare. "What was that for?"

"Bruce?" said Audrey, turning to Sara with a smile. It was an odd smile, conspiring even. Sara did not know how to take it.

"Yeah. Bruce Cormick," said Sara. She gave them both a strange look. "Why? What is it?" said Sara, looking from Carrie to Audrey and the little frowns the two girls seemed to share.

"Oh, no, nothing," said Audrey. She placed a reassuring hand on her back. "It's nothing. Enjoy your date."

"You guys are so weird," said Sara. She glanced at her watch again and decided she had no time to spare on her fellow servers' silliness. That, or she was simply being paranoid. "I really have to go. I'll see you later."

She ran out to the front and her face went alight in a glowing smile when she saw Bruce, leaning ever so handsomely against his car. He looked very good when he was leaning.

"Really, thank you," said Bruce as he got up to open the door for her on the other side.

"Did I say that out loud?" Sara asked him, halting before she stepped inside the passenger seat.

"You're not fooling anyone. I think you meant to," said Bruce, his voice all low murmur and sending a shiver down her spine.

"Is that so?" said Sara, and immediately afterward, Bruce leaned in over in a close hover, his breaths falling near enough for her to feel them as a whisper against her cheek, and the skin on her arms pimpled. "Clever man," she breathed, lifting her eyes to him. She tried a smile on her lips. "This is a Very Intense Moment, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Bruce. The way he stared at her made Sara sober up in an instant.

"Shouldn't you be following up with a Very Intense Kiss?" whispered Sara after a moment and he had yet to make his move.

Bruce's eyes flickered up, behind her, and he took a step back.

"Well," said Bruce, and Sara turned around to follow where he had glanced to seconds earlier. Carrie and Audrey were wiping vigorously at the table by the front window facing them and Sara narrowed her eyes. Aside from the fact the table was obviously already clean was the fact there was no need for more than one person to clean it if it had been dirty.

She turned back to Bruce and saw the amusement in his smile.

"Yeah, I don't know. They're crazy, the both of them," said Sara. She made a note to remember to ask them about their bizarre behavior tomorrow.

"Shall we go?" said Bruce, looking at her questioningly.

"Let's," said Sara, and she stepped inside.

* * *

Her date with Bruce had gone very well.

He had taken her out to dinner to a Japanese restaurant for sushi, which reminded Sara of another date long ago in college when Austin first introduced her to the dish. The experience was vastly different, as in the prior occasion, Sara had to be cajoled into trying it in the first place and afterwards, Austin had stupidly believed it would be very funny to dab a generous heaping of wasabi onto the sliver of fish. He had been, of course, very misguided on what constituted as being 'funny' but Sara had forgiven her former almost-boyfriend as he had mastered the puppy-dog look and the flowers later didn't hurt. She hadn't tried sushi since then and though Sara approached dinner with some wariness, she did not fear a repeat experience because Bruce was not a twenty-year-old college boy, and she was not wrong.

Dinner had been excellent. Perfect, even.

Bruce dropped her off at her apartment complex afterward and Sara quickly changed before heading out to Red York's. She loathed to go, but she could not afford to skip shifts simply because she met a man, albeit a very handsome and charming man who liked to coax a smile out of her every chance he got.

Sara entered through the back door and was tying her apron around her waist when Laurel came out to greet her, leaving just as Sara had arrived—the chit-chat in the little times in between the comings and goings caught in the life of a small-time waitress.

"Another late night shift, Sara?" said Laurel, already having had gathered her stuff together and staying to chat merely for Sara's benefit. She raised her eyebrows and smiled suggestively. "So what have you been doing with your evenings?"

"Nothing much," said Sara, shrugging her shoulders. What was it with everyone's sudden interest in her personal relations?

"Nothing much with your boyfriend?" Laurel pushed, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"He's not my boyfriend," Sara immediately corrected. She furrowed her brow. She actually wasn't sure what exactly Bruce was, what exactly they were doing. Sara had no idea how to define him in relation to her. She only knew he was _not_ her boyfriend. She wasn't even sure if he was really even a friend. He was something more and something less, all at once.

"Sounds like a boyfriend to me," said Laurel, amusement in her voice.

"He's just…" Sara started.

"Mm-hm."

"He isn't my boyfriend," said Sara plainly. He couldn't be a boyfriend if he knew nothing about her, and he really didn't. In turn, she really knew nothing about him. She realized in that moment she wanted to keep things that way. She looked down and her heart felt strange. "He really isn't."

"If you say so," said Laurel, looking at her with what might have been construed as pity in the line of her smile. "I'm going to go now, but see you tomorrow. Bye."

"Bye," said Sara and without another glance, she stepped out to the front, ready to work.

* * *

Sara glanced at the clock on the wall. She still had another hour and a half until the end of her shift. It was only ninety minutes, but ninety minutes at Red York's during the late night shift was painful each and every second. Sara wished Laurel had not left earlier and was on shift for the night. Time always passed by so much faster with a fellow server to commiserate with, but Tuesday nights didn't require more than one girl on the floor, however, and so Sara worked by her lonesome self. It was also especially slow tonight, with only a few tame customers at the bar, eyes glued to the football game on the wide, plasma television screen, the only object which looked to be of any value in the entire bar. Sara spent most of her time standing close to the back where she could keep her eye out on mostly everyone but remain inconspicuous and off to the side.

She supposed the slow night was better than a busy night filled with lecherous, uncontrollable drunks, except the latter provided hefty tips and the busier night passed much more quickly. There was also one other drawback when it was especially slow. It bubbled to the surface for the third time the night.

"Hey Sara," said Benny. A shiver ran down her back. The bad kind. Sara could feel the weight of his presence much too close behind her. She eased out of her position and tried to still her frown when he followed her with his eyes. There was a strange look to them she wasn't used to, something almost reptilian about his gaze, but Sara brushed the thoughts away as she went to take an empty glass from the bar to the back. Unnecessary, really, but the action gave her an excuse to move.

Though in the end, Sara supposed it was worth it. If she hadn't been taking these late night shifts, dreadful as they could be, she wouldn't have been able to spend time with Bruce. The realization she was really going through all this just for him surprised her. He _wasn't_ her boyfriend, and Sara still wasn't exactly sure about her feelings towards him or the exact depth of them—when she tried to think about how she felt about anything, she mostly drew up blanks. She wondered when that had started happening, the strange veil masking the strength of her feelings. Sara chose not to think too much on it.

But time spent with Bruce was fun and painless. Distracting. That was enough for her. No, not her boyfriend, and she was pretty certain she did not even want him to become such a term, but in all honesty, Sara enjoyed spending time with him and she was glad he was there. It was more than she could say about most things in her life.

* * *

Bruce had taken her out to dinner the other night and so for their next date, Sara offered dinner at her house followed by a movie. The menu was Spaghetti ala Bolognese, which translated to ground beef and Prego in a saucepan. It was unfortunately one of her best dishes.

"Did you want any wine?" asked Sara.

"I actually don't drink," said Bruce.

Sara looked at the bottle of wine, a bottle of Pinot Noir she had purchased for eight dollars, not having automatically reached for the cheapest one as she usually did. She set it down on the counter and pursed her lips.

"Shame," she said mournfully. "What a waste. Neither do I."

She lifted her head up just in time to catch the slightest quirk in Bruce's lips at her words. Sara raised an eyebrow.

"What was that?" she asked him.

"What do you mean?" he returned, all too innocently.

"You know what I mean. You had a look there for a second," said Sara, driven with all the purpose not to let it go. It seemed to her all day people around her were hiding things or making comments about her she did not wholly understand and Sara was growing tired of all the secrecy. "Why, does it surprise you?"

"No. Not at all," said Bruce.

"It's okay," she suddenly said in the most magnanimous tone she could muster. Her eyes flickered to the counter opposite them, a little bit of shelf hidden next to the refrigerator. "I understand, seeing how there is a half-empty bottle of vodka I completely forgot about," she mused.

"Well, there is that," said Bruce.

Sara smiled and walked over to the damning counter. "I probably meant to say, I don't drink usually, but on occasion."

"I don't care. It doesn't matter to me at all," said Bruce, and he sounded honest enough for Sara to believe him. His next question seemed to be piqued by curiosity alone. "So what was the occasion?"

Sara picked up the bottle of vodka, looking over the label.

"I don't remember," she said blankly and put the bottle away in the cabinet. Something thick, full of feeling tried to make its way up her throat and with a sharp intake of breath, Sara forced it back down, pushing it away from her. The tremor left and she remained untouched. "Probably nothing important."

Sara felt his gaze heavy on her and she turned back to him, refusing to be unnerved by the inscrutable expression he wore on his face. She smiled at him cheerily and surprised herself when she discovered the cheer was not all false.

"Here, Bruce. Have a taste of my world-class cooking," she said, setting down a plate of spaghetti in front of him.

* * *

"I can't believe you've never watched this movie," she said for the fifteenth time.

"I wasn't aware so many people have," said Bruce.

"It's a classic," said Sara.

"It's the Addams Family," said Bruce, a smile in his voice.

"…which is a classic," said Sara obviously. "You know, I was named after her."

"Is that so?" said Bruce.

"Yeah," said Sara.

"That would be very impressive, except her name is Wednesday," said Bruce.

"Well, in spirit," said Sara.

"I suppose I could see that," he said, and glanced a smile at her before looking back at the television screen.

"Mm," said Sara.

Her television glowed as the movie played on but Sara could not attend to Gomez and Morticia. Angelica Houston spoke words Sara couldn't understand or even really hear. The only thing occupying all her senses was the feel of Bruce's warmth next to her even as she kept her eyes to the screen. He shifted in his seat, brushing close against her in an accidental gesture. Heat spread throughout her body and Sara tilted her face up to land a soft kiss on his jaw, close to his mouth but not quite meeting it. She started to pull back when she felt the pressure of his fingers gently grazing the back of her neck and instead, she lifted her head a little higher as he lowered his, delivering his lips directly to hers.

She shut her eyes and in dizzied movements, pulled herself up so she was sitting directly in his lap with her knees on either side of him. The movie continued, forgotten in the background, and Sara did not quite feel herself or even feel real. Everything felt more a dream and she thought maybe she could hear the dull monotone of Wednesday Addams but she did not care. She wove her hands through his hair and he deepened the kiss. She lowered one of her hands until it hung across the nape of his neck and she used it as leverage to pull herself closer. In a responsive action, she felt his hands pressed to the small of her back in a firm but gentle touch, enclosing her body to his.

Warmth spread along the lines of her whole body and her heart was racing wildly. A few moments later, she pulled back, her breathing a little ragged and her face flushed. Sara knelt her forehead down to his and released a heavy sigh. It felt as though the cloak hooding her senses lifted and she could suddenly hear Wednesday speaking in the background, her words no longer unintelligible or muted. But Bruce was still with her; she could feel one of his hands toying with her hair. The other remained heavy on her back and she burned where it rested.

Eyes shut, Sara breathed. Wednesday was still there, too.

When she opened her eyes and met his dark eyes, she nearly stopped her breathing for a second, the intent gaze melting her insides and piquing another hot flush of longing in her and she almost forgot Wednesday again. Before it could come to that, Sara smiled at him weakly and placed a soft kiss to his forehead as she disentangled herself from his embrace and stood up. In the immediate aftermath, she missed the warmth of his closeness and the feeling of being protected and cherished, but she needed to calm down.

"I just need a moment," she told him breathlessly. She quickly turned away from him, rushing to the bathroom without even a glance to gauge his reaction to her sudden departure. Sara had the feeling if she had met his eyes, she would never have been able to leave. But she needed to stop the rush of feelings overwhelming her.

She splashed water on her face and let her heart slow down. She turned the faucet as cold as it could get but she still felt much too warm. Sara remained standing still in the bathroom for a few more moments, under the flickering of the dim light bulb—she would have to change it soon—and her hands under the cool stream of water, the slightest tremble in them which she could not quiet.

When she went back to the living room, Bruce stood up, an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry," he said. He grabbed his jacket off the table. "Something just came up and I have to go."

"Oh, that's fine," Sara assured him, feeling secretly relieved. She needed him gone before she… she wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she just needed him not here.

Bruce walked over to her and kissed her quickly on the forehead. He took her gently by the shoulders and she lifted her head to meet his questioning gaze, and Sara could tell just then he was checking to make sure she did not mind.

"I'll see you later?" he said, a little hesitant.

Sara nodded her head and gave him an encouraging smile. She could tell the moment he concluded there was no danger to be had as he removed his hands from her and hastily made his way out, the tenseness in his bearing from something altogether apart from her.

"Later," she agreed, following him to the front door.

Bruce half-hopped, half-ran out the door to his car and Sara smiled at him, waving as he started his engine. The car drove off and Sara shut the door, leaning her back against the closed door. She exhaled a deep sigh and felt her heart steady down to a calm beat.

She heard her phone ring and Sara hastily grabbed her purse to get it. She checked the caller ID. It was Laurel and she felt a twinge of disappointment. It didn't occur to her for a full second her disappointment stemmed from the fact it wasn't Bruce. And he had just been there moments earlier—and she truly had been relieved when he had left, but she would not have been surprised if he had given her a teasing call after abruptly leaving. Sara sort of wanted him to. She wasn't sure how she felt about this new development.

Sara answered the phone.

"Hey," she said.

"Sara, you have to come over," said Laurel in a deadpan.

"What's wrong?" asked Sara, somewhat concerned.

"Nothing, except that you're not here," said Laurel, and then Sara could hear the smirk on her friend's lips.

"Right," said Sara. Her concern completely diminished.

"Seriously. You'll thank me later," said Laurel convincingly.

"Well…" said Sara. She did not really want to go over.

"Sa—ra," said Laurel.

"Okay, fine. I'll come over," Sara relented. She had a feeling it would be easier to go and get whatever Laurel wanted done and over with rather than have Laurel badger her for the rest of the night.

"You have an hour!" cried Laurel and hung up the phone.

* * *

"So what do you have to show me?" asked Sara.

Laurel said nothing, simply taking hold of Sara's arm and dragging her inside. She slammed the door shut, locked it, and proceeded to drag Sara to her couch and sat her down.

"Laurel?"

Laurel picked up a long strip of white cloth, maybe an inch wide. She lifted Sara's sleeve up from her left arm and tied the white piece of cloth uncomfortably tight around Sara's upper arm.

"What are you doing?" asked Sara. She was staring at her suspiciously but made no move to stop Laurel.

Laurel's blue eyes flickered up to Sara's and she grinned.

"Trust me, Sara. I'm feeling generous today, so you're in for a real treat."

Laurel lifted Sara's arm high in the air, elevating it above her head and told her to keep it still as she let go and disappeared into her bedroom. She came back a minute later, two ampoules in her hand.

Sara glued her eyes to them. She opened her mouth, considering protesting, but something held her back. Whatever reservations she had against the pills were completely dissolved by now, but something in her felt distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of a direct injection. And yet, Sara closed her mouth shut and watched Laurel instead with fascination.

Laurel removed the tip and in a quick movement after finding the dark line of blue in Sara's arm, she pierced it through her skin. It felt like a quick pinch, too fast and too little for pain to register. Laurel pressed down on the syringe and then drew it out an instant later.

She looked to Sara with a lazy smile of satisfaction.

Sara looked up to her, unsure of what she was to expect, before it crashed down on her.

"There!" Laurel exclaimed. "You're so easy, Sara. I saw it the moment it hit you."

It hit her hard.

Today was a good day.

Tonight was even better.

* * *

The line kept ringing and Bruce frowned. He had been over just a half hour ago and despite his quick exit, he was fairly certain she did not much mind at all. If anything, she seemed immensely relieved he was taking his leave. He did not blame her; she was not the only one who felt some relief at his leaving. Bruce prided himself on his self-control, but it was not always easy, and when she had come back out looking so flustered with her flushed cheeks and biting her lip, he wanted badly to… kiss her.

Bruce was getting to know her. He just wasn't sure if he was getting to know her the way he ought to.

It was a dangerous line he was walking along and the message from Alfred of another killing gave him the impetus to go.

"_Hi, this is Sara. I'm not here right now, but please leave a message and…"_

Bruce disconnected the phone. He would just have to talk to her later.

Somewhere out there was a man who was taking the law into his own hands and punishing people with death, and Bruce knew. Regardless of what everyone else believed, Bruce knew. And Gordon knew. The Red Hood and Batman were not the same, not even on the same playing field. The Red Hood was something darker, more sinister, and when Bruce saw the pictures of another victim, this time a renowned ex-convict Gordon had been watching out for, bound and broken with red cloaking his face, Bruce could not help wonder if this was a creation of his own. Alfred would tell him otherwise, but the torturous _what-ifs_ would remain whispering in his ears.

He would not sleep well tonight.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Exams are finally over! Life has been pretty busy regardless, but here is the next chapter. For those who keep wondering when the drug chapters are over, I'll say soon. For those wondering why, I think it is pretty obvious. And for those who may be a little surprised with the fast pace at which Sara/Bruce's relationship is moving, just take in mind physicality=/=a real relationship and the love, trust, etc. which comes with it. ;) There is still much story to be told.

Thanks for reviewing! It is much appreciated as always. I'm glad people enjoyed the happy. It won't always be so... but the unrepentant onslaught of miserydoom as it was in the earlier chapters won't really be the case in the future. Angst and drama? Yes, but definitely a continuance of the happy as well.

DarkDefender89: As you can see, others have noticed by now, and definitely the Bruce _Wayne _issue will be a pressing point in the future.  
Ann Grayridge: the Red Hood is my attempt at weaving a plot into a shameless romance. I'm not very good with real plots and so it's really weaker than I'd like, but hopefully interesting enough to keep the story moving, though it is definitely not a focus.  
ummbo: I'm glad you liked. The happy was probably just as weird for you to read as it was for me to write. I'm still not entirely satisfied with it and may go back to re-edit the chapter later on if I have spare time. I also just realized you've read my Avatar fic, which somewhat amuses me since they're such different fandoms.

:)


	8. A Strange Day

**Snakes and Ladders  
_Chapter Eight: A Strange Day_**

_

* * *

_

Sara stirred from her sleep a total of three times before she actually woke up enough to drag herself out of bed—at least, she only remembered stirring three times, though it might have been four. She was still mired well into dreamless sleep during those brief awakenings, her eyelids heavy, her mind foggy and movements slow. She vaguely recalled checking the time during one of the earlier bouts of consciousness before promptly rolling back to bed when she had seen it was some godforsaken hour like six or seven.

She stirred again and made some sort of unintelligible noise as she turned to the other side, wiggling around in an effort to find the easy comfort which would allow her to fall back asleep. She only succeeded in heightening her discomfort and Sara knew she wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon, but still, she did not want to wake yet.

She threw her hand on top of her nightstand, haphazardly feeling around for her cell phone and nearly knocked over the glass of water she had completely forgotten she'd put there last night. When she found her phone she glanced at the time; it was past noon, nearly one. She let the phone drop out of her hand and did not bother when it fell lost in her covers. Bringing up the newly freed hand to her mouth in a wide yawn, Sara lazily stretched out her limbs before she forced herself to sit up. The movement rustled her covers and consequently, her phone tumbled to the floor, but still, Sara did not bother.

She yawned again and rubbed her eyes, certain she had developed fierce circles underneath them even though she had yet to look in a mirror. This was something against nature considering she had more sleep than she ever normally got, but it went in line with the fact Sara just felt so _tired_. She was not sleepy and was sure she could not sleep longer if she tried, but her mind felt as foggy as when she was in that delirious tired state. There was also an unexplainable ache in her bones and a faint sore spot in her neck when she turned her head to the left side.

Sara sighed. All she wanted was to just go back to sleep. It was her day off at the Hanging Garden, and aside from a few hours in an evening shift at Red York's, her day was entirely free and Sara was not sure what to do with it. She had so much time and absolutely no idea of what she was supposed to do. So, so much time… it made her wonder, what did she usually do when she had these long stretches of free time?

The heavy fog pressed down on her mind as she tried to remember. It pressed down harder and harder until her heart began to swell and she felt the discomfort keenly enough for her to stop trying to think of what she had normally done during leisure.

The thought of Bruce flitted in her mind for a second—perhaps she could invite him over—and then she remembered it was a Monday, after all, and he was probably working. Sara sighed again. She supposed she would just laze about all day, but the idea was highly unappealing. What was it she normally did? Andrew and her father's face flashed in her mind and Sara jolted up like she had been burned. Before her heart could heave, the thought was gone just as quickly as it had come, and instead her eyes lingered towards her dresser.

* * *

She had just changed her clothes to get ready for work when she heard a knocking at the door, and for a moment, she thought she was simply hearing things because there was no reason for anyone to come around. Then the knocking continued, and Sara did not know what she had been expecting when she went to get the door, but what she had definitely not been expecting was to open the door to Bruce holding a bouquet of tulips.

"Bruce," she exclaimed, shifting a lock of hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture. She took the flowers he offered and glanced down at them, cheeks tinted pink. "They're lovely," she murmured softly, stepping aside to let him in. She walked over to her kitchen to find a vase for the flowers.

"I was in the area and thought I'd swing by and surprise you," explained Bruce.

"And you happened to have flowers on you?" said Sara, raising her eyebrows in an arched look.

"I saw a man selling them at the corner and I couldn't resist," he said casually, as though he had purchased them on a whim. Except Sara knew better and everything about the bouquet was florist shop; the perfect shape and color of each petal, the arrangement to present each flower in its best light, the plastic wrapping tailored with its own designer trimming.

"Thank you. They're really very nice," said Sara.

When she found the vase, she set the flowers on the table, and stepped back for a moment, regarding them with a smile. Sara had never been one for big romantic gestures—she was immensely glad they were not roses—so she was somewhat taken aback with the pleasure she felt from receiving them. They were so bright and cheerful and lively and before she knew it, Sara felt her smile becoming more strained instead of genuine because it seemed to her so obvious, looking at them in her apartment, that they did not match up to her life. She felt like a fraud, keeping tulips on her table as if she was more than some lowly barmaid who was ever going to leave the Narrows. Which, speaking of, she was going to be late to work if she did not leave soon.

Bruce watched her, a frown surfacing his features.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Of course not. I'm fine. I'm just surprised. I wasn't expecting you," she said.

"You don't like surprises," said Bruce, the tone in his voice revealing the slightest twinge of disappointment.

"It isn't that, really," she said, wringing her hands together. "I was actually just on my way out to work."

"Oh," said Bruce. He smiled at her in his charming way and Sara's stomach lifted with butterflies. "I can drop you off."

"You don't need to do that," she assured him. "I don't want to trouble you."

"You wouldn't trouble me any," said Bruce. "I can take you now if you're in a hurry."

"I'd rather you didn't," Sara said quickly.

Bruce stared at her for a moment, silent. He exhaled. "Right."

"It's not what you think, Bruce. It's just…" her cheeks colored as she tried to explain, feeling flustered with how wrongly things must have appeared to Bruce in that moment, but also a deeper reluctance to reveal her explanation. She did not want to ruin things with Bruce by giving him the wrong impression—not that there was anything to ruin, but he gave her flowers, for god's sake, even if they did make her feel like a fraud, but she just didn't want him gone yet. She took a breath and decided to tell him anyway.

"It's not like the Hanging Garden. It's not a place where a man like you would step foot in. It isn't even as though Hanging Garden is some fancy establishment, but Red York's is just… do you understand? What I'm trying to say here?" Sara turned back to the flowers and fingered one of the tulips. "They're so nice, these flowers."

"I do understand," said Bruce after a pregnant pause.

Sara's mouth turned up in an automatic smile, but it felt more like the sort of smile one made before crying than one from any emotion akin to happiness. She couldn't help it, and she was taken aback for the second time that day. It wasn't as though Bruce meant anything to her—really, _really_ she did not know him very well. And sometimes when she looked at him she could only see how there was no place for anything like him in her life. Despite all of it, even knowing he was going to leave eventually because who was she kidding if she thought he'd always stay, she still found herself wanting him. It was a lie, but Sara wanted to pretend longer.

"Come here," said Bruce. He turned her around to face him, taking her hands in his and Sara bit her lip because it felt so good, his hands enveloping hers. She did not know that something so good was right for her, but before she could think further on it, he brought her closer to him and placed a gentle kiss on her brow.

"I don't care," he murmured. "It's only where you work, nothing else."

And Sara knew for certain, she did not deserve this at all. He was good—far too good. For her.

"Let me drop you off," said Bruce.

He offered her his arm, and Sara knew she shouldn't take it. She did anyway.

* * *

Bruce acted as he normally did in the car. He didn't have to carry the mask too long because it wasn't so far, but this was a good thing, because it strained him to smile when he knew he was sending Sara off to a den of wolves. Batman was no stranger to the likes of Red York's; it was another seedy little hole crawling with criminals in the Narrows, and he could feel his ire rising when he thought of the people she was daily coming into contact with.

He pulled into the cramped parking lot and even though he was definitely not driving his Lamborghini or anything close to its kind, his car still managed to look far nicer than the rest in the lot, apart from the single car or two which exaggeratedly displayed wealth, likely obtained from drug money or other less-than-respectable sources. Sara paused for a moment before she opened the door. She turned to him with an inscrutable gaze from which Bruce could pick up nothing about what was on her mind, excepting a trace of gratefulness.

"You're a good man, Bruce," said Sara. There was a note of disbelief in her words and suddenly, Bruce understood her; he wondered how many people had ever been truly kind to her and Bruce did not imagine the number was very high. "Thank you," she said and hurriedly left the car, as though slightly embarrassed by her admission. She took one last glance back at him before she stepped through the doors of the Hanging Garden and Bruce waved goodbye.

When she was gone, he exhaled a harsh breath. A good man? His knuckles clenched. The only person whose opinion truly mattered to him at the moment thought nothing but the best of him. He should be feeling satisfaction, but Bruce did not remember satisfaction tasting so bitter. No, there was no satisfaction to be had on half-truths and hidden secrets. She said he was a good man, but such a statement only brought to surface the cold reality and he felt horrible. If she knew… if she really knew… after all, even though all he wanted was to drag her out of that miserable hole in the wall, it was his fault she was in there in the first place.

* * *

"You're in a good mood," said Laurel, raising her eyebrows when Sara blushed prettily at the comment.

"Yeah well," said Sara, a shy smile playing at her lips.

Laurel's eyes glanced at some point behind Sara for an instant before she returned her gaze to Sara and said in a very offhand manner, "You shouldn't smile so much."

"What?" said Sara, puzzlement startling her smile but not diminishing the happy glow about her person.

"It's just, you look far too pretty when you do," said Laurel and went back to her work.

Sara was baffled for a moment, but she brushed away the matter and thought nothing more of it. Later on, she would realize it had been a warning.

* * *

His first clue should have been that she even called him in the first place, because so far they had established in their strange quasi-relationship that it was him who initiated contact, which he didn't mind in the least. Sara was wary when it came to this thing they had, and he could understand that. So when his phone rang and it read her name on the caller id, it should have tipped him off. Instead, he thought of it as progress, considering just the other day she had called him a good man, and she was not one to hand out compliments so generously.

"Are you busy?" said Sara's voice brightly on the other line.

She sounded so cheerful, it took him by surprise. This should have been the second sign, because Sara never sounded that happy. Happy wasn't her thing, or to be specific, overt signs of happiness. She always had her guards up, and was definitely not the type of person whose emotions could be easily read. If there was anything she expressed in excess, it was bitter cynicism. Once more, he noted the discrepancy but wrote it off as her being in a good mood, and so he smiled.

"Well, that depends," he said playfully.

"Well, you should come over and play with me," she replied in a mimicry of his tone.

Bruce laughed.

"You know you want to. Let me have my way with you," she said, and it was downright unusual how she played the role of a mischievous siren, and he let her.

"I'll be there in a bit," he said.

Alfred gave him a look crossed between amusement and slight disgust.

"What?" said Bruce.

"Oh, nothing at all, Master Wayne," said Alfred, his lips twitching.

Bruce ignored him.

* * *

Sara opened the door before he even knocked and in that moment of surprise, she threw her arms around his neck and her lips to his in a fierce kiss. It took another moment for Bruce to register just exactly what was going on and by then, they had stepped inside her apartment and he closed the door behind them. Bruce managed to end the kiss and took a small step back before she dove in for another.

"Sara?" he said, taking her appearance in mind. There was a hunger in her eyes which scared him, and Bruce just knew this was a bad idea.

She didn't seem to notice his hesitance because she threw her shirt off and then lifted herself back up to him again.

They stumbled into her bedroom, knocking against the door as they went in and Sara nearly fell as she tripped backwards but Bruce easily steadied her up against him. Wrapping her arms around his neck and deepening the kiss, she pulled him down and both fell to the cushion of her bed. She made fast work of flipping out from underneath him and pinned him down to the bed with a playful glint in her eyes. Blonde locks fell forward as she lowered her mouth and their lips locked together in another searing kiss. A hand slipped underneath his shirt and edged the cloth upwards, revealing a wash of hard abdomen to the cool evening air of her apartment—the heating was never on in there.

And then he placed a firm hand over her wandering one, keeping it still. He broke the kiss and Sara lifted her head, staring down at him with puzzlement in her eyes.

"Bruce?" she said, and he could tell apart from the confusion, she was possibly looking at him as if he was being very Stupid, because clearly, she was finally giving him a chance to take their relationship to a level she was not willing to before.

Some part of him agreed with her, particularly the part which made him male. His senses were in overdrive and he wanted nothing more to just forget all those fine complications and let her do whatever it was she wanted. Except, no matter how tempting—and it was really _awfully_ tempting—all the signs fell into place and Bruce knew something was wrong. He wanted to be with Sara, just not like this.

"We should stop," he said through ragged breathing.

Sara smiled, undeterred by his admission. Instead, she lowered her face and placed a hot kiss to the crook of his neck.

"Why would we do that?" she murmured. She snaked her other hand down to the front of his pants and he drew in a sharp breath, a shudder running through his body.

"Sara," he said, firmly pulling away from her grasps and putting distance between them.

Both sat up still on her bed, as Sara seemed to understand he wasn't simply upholding some false pretense. She stared at him with a furrow in her brow. She didn't say anything but stared at him questioningly, waiting for him to speak first.

"This isn't… I can't do this," he said, finding it very difficult to find the right words to explain what he was feeling.

She was silent for a while and then her lips twisted into a hurt smile.

"I just don't get you, Bruce," she said quietly and he stared at her, pained.

"I'm sorry," he said, quickly getting up from her bed.

He had to leave. Sara looked as if she wanted nothing more than for him to take it back, change his mind and continue on towards that path of corporeal delight. And Bruce was a master of self-control, but the truth was, if he stayed, he might just let her do what she thought she wanted; that, he was certain, would only make things worse.

* * *

The door opened. The door closed. He was gone.

Sara fell forward in her bed, smashing her face against the pillow, cutting off her air supply. She took breaths, hard and controlled through the unforgiving barrier of cotton. Her heart thundered in her ears and she felt uncomfortably hot. She took a few more struggling breaths before she finally lifted her head, taking the first sweet gulp of easy, cool air before she plopped herself back down but on her back.

Her mind was carefully blank. Or at least, she was trying to make her mind blank. She didn't exactly garner the success she craved but she found it did not matter because moments later, she simply stood up to her dresser. Anger, confusion, humiliation—_oh_ the humiliation!—confusion, and really, _confusion_—she didn't understand anything. But it all faded, died down against the stronger pull of relief, the knowledge she could take it all away.

It was really too easy.

Sara wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Wind from the open windows slapped his face as Bruce revved the engine, driving faster than he knew he should; yet he drove faster still. His attempts at clearing his mind were proving to be wholly unsuccessful. Over and over again, the same thoughts reared up and took center stage, forcing him to come face to face with what he knew he had been ignoring in his gut for far too long: there was something very wrong with Sara.

There was also something very wrong with him. This was why he never should have gone to see her in the first place. There she was, vulnerable and defenseless after a traumatizing experience, and there he was, coming in and being there when she needed somebody the most. It was… terrifyingly wrong. Bruce could not leave her. She needed _somebody_. But, Bruce knew she would not need somebody if it hadn't been for him barging into her life and ruining it in the first place. She needed somebody, but he was the worst person to fill that place. And yet, he knew. If it wasn't him, there'd simply be nobody, and Bruce wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

He ran all the facts in his head again, searching for the answer and was left once more with nothing except the one fact. Something was wrong, and he suspected it was more than just the loss of her brother.

Bruce dialed her line in his car.

He had to talk to her.

* * *

Sara hadn't planned on working a shift at Red York's that night, one of the reasons why she had invited Bruce over in the first place. But she got the call from her boss, his rough tones telling her she needed to come in because another girl had canceled, and Sara decided to go because she felt restless and anxious and was afraid she might go mad if she was left to herself all night.

Her mind was swirling in unhappiness so she did not notice. She alternated from sharp bursts of anger towards Bruce, then longing for his arms wrapped around her, to confusion as to _why_ he stopped. Clearly, he wanted her, and she had made it very clear she wanted him, so what was stopping him? Sara just didn't understand. He was good, but he was still a guy.

"Woah," said Benny, startling Sara as she bumped into him while she was walking hastily to the bar. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she hadn't seen him coming at all.

"Sorry," Sara mumbled. She started to make her way again, when Benny placed a firm hand on her arm.

"Hold on, Sara," said Benny, and she lifted her eyes to him in confusion. She waited for him to continue, expecting some sort of rebuke because Benny could sometimes be unpredictable in his rages, but was surprised when his gaze softened and his voice was gentle.

"You look uneasy," he said. "Is something wrong?"

"No, thank you. I'm perfectly alright," said Sara. She felt a strange coil of fear emerge in the pit of her stomach, because even if he threw tantrums occasionally, that certain feeling of danger never accompanied them like they were now. It was all wrong, that softness he was trying to convey. Sara didn't like it one bit, and her whole body was on alert, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling and her limbs ready to pounce at any given moment.

"You know, I've always had a good feeling about you," Benny continued. He lifted his hand from her arm and Sara felt a breath of relief, and then her whole body tensed when he stepped within the boundaries of her personal comfort zone.

"I need to wipe the bar," said Sara stiffly. She started to move but faltered when Benny shook his head.

"I can always tell when my waitresses are using," said Benny. Sara didn't bother denying, knowing full well she wouldn't be fooling anybody. Instead, she eyed him warily. He smiled at her, putting up a false air of compassion and friendliness in his mien, inviting her to lower her guard as though she was foolish enough not to notice the hard, predatory glint in his eyes.

She forced herself from flinching when Benny lifted his hand and his fingers brushed against her hair, smoothing down the front pieces back behind her ear. Blood rushed to her face and she could hear alarm bells advertising _danger danger danger_ ringing in her head, and the urge to bolt away drummed her heartbeat into a frenzy, but Sara had to play her cards right. It was a tricky situation, this, but if she went about it the right way she was certain she could come out unscathed. Sara couldn't afford to make him angry; that would not be in her best interests in any way whatsoever. All she had to do was remain calm, keep her head on her shoulders.

"What you get from Laurel is nothing compared to what _I_ can give you," Benny murmured.

Calm, Sara reminded herself, as she felt the hot breath of his words fall against her ear. She could repair the situation. She just had to remain calm. And then she froze, losing all sense of reason, when she felt the touch of his fingers against her cheek, lingering there in a gentle caress—the most intense feeling of self-loathing coiled in her gut. She had never felt so _dirty_, so disgusted. With herself. With Benny.

It was enough for her to break all semblance of sanity, enough to fuel possibly one of the most singly stupid acts of her life in which she acted on impulse and impulse alone. She didn't even realize what she had done until she found herself catching her balance before she could stumble onto the ground as she leapt backwards from some force—and she realized, the some force from which she was propelled backwards was of her pushing Benny away from her. Hard.

There was a return of some amount of reason and Sara knew she was in trouble. She stared dumbly in shock, and Benny stared back at her with the same expression. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this, and she could see the anger brewing in his face as the shock wore away. She took an uncertain step back. His anger was certain, but that he stood himself up from the floor in an eerily calm manner made her even more nervous than if he had just exploded on her as she had expected.

"I—" started Sara, shuffling around for the right words. She couldn't think of any, and instead she just remained frozen.

"_I_ didn't expect that," said Benny, and suddenly, he started to laugh.

She was bewildered, but she also had some sense of self-preservation, and knew, _yes_, it was stupid. Very, very stupid of her, but she wasn't sure if staying would help salvage her situation, so she did the only thing she could think of doing, and that was to get out of this place as soon as she could.

She didn't understand. Why wasn't he doing anything? Why was he just letting her walk away? And as she stepped outside, she heard him call after her, taunting in an all-knowing voice, "You'll come back. They always do."

The door closed behind her and Sara stood numbly on the street, the full force of his words turning her veins into ice.

She started to run.

She did not doubt people turned their heads to watch curiously as she swept by them, but she did not care. She did not even notice when they did. She nearly ran into her apartment door before she managed to fumble at the locks to let herself in, and after she had gotten inside, she took merely a second to gather her shuddering breaths before she ran into her room, not even bothering to glance behind her to check if the door had fully closed. She fell to her knees in front of her dresser, knocking her hands against the wood in clumsy movements as she opened the drawer and dug around for the little canister. When she found it, she ran to her bed and spilled the contents onto her quilts and Sara began to count.

Her heart thumped in her ears as she carefully moved each pill from one side to the other. Her heart hurt, and she felt herself filling with despair. Fourteen. She had fourteen. Her heart kept hurting, and she thought maybe the despair might kill her. Calm. She had to calm down. On impulse, she popped two in her mouth and swallowed.

Sara took in a deep breath. Calm, she thought, and then she counted again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven eight nine ten eleven _twelve_. Twelve. She needed at least two to feel anything, but lately she had been taking three and she wasn't sure if two would have really done the same trick anymore. And right now, she didn't feel calm at all, and she had just taken two. Instead, her despair felt more intensified and she felt such a frantic panic inside she was shaking all over.

She counted again.

… ten eleven twelve … ten eleven _twelve_ … ten eleven twelve … _Twelve_.

Her fingers trembled and she popped another one in her mouth because any moment, her heart was going to explode. So, three then.

… ten eleven … ten _eleven_. … eleven divided by three. Three days with three, and then a leftover two. Four days, tops. Maybe if she just managed to take two, she'd be able to last five days. Five days. That wasn't even a week. Five days, and then nothing. She'd have only five days left of her life left before she had nothing.

Horror set in. And she was supposed to be feeling calm, but she wasn't. She was terrified and couldn't remember ever feeling so scared. She had to make it better, she had to make it go away. Sara could do that; it was so easy, she knew how. All she had to do was take another two.

And after she took them, it did the trick. Her heart had finally stopped feeling like it was going to burst out of her chest, and instead, she suddenly saw everything more clearly than she had ever before. Sara had an epiphany.

She couldn't do it. There was no way. She had eleven (_nine_) left, and afterwards, nothing, and she wouldn't know what to do after. It would be impossible for her to go on without them, and she supposed she could recover her relationship with Benny and she could make sure she'd always have an everlasting supply, but then she thought of Laurel and Sara was very certain of what she did not want to be.

Really, what was the point of all of this? Why was she even bothering?

And how had she not seen it earlier?

The pills made it better, but now she understood, they could never make it go away.

It was so much easier to do _that_.

Sara washed down the remaining pills down her throat, feeling more sure about this than she had ever felt about anything in her life. She fell to her bed, smiling at the wash of gentle ease flowing through her, buzzing a pleasant warmth in all of her extremities as she sank deeper and deeper into eternal bliss. She thought she maybe she heard something in the background, a familiar tune (her cellphone?) ringing and pleading for her attention, but it grew fainter and Sara wondered if she was simply imagining it.

What did it matter, anyway? Such trivialities were no longer of her concern. Her eyelids felt heavy, so she closed them, and when she did, she marveled at how in tune she was with her earthly form. She could _feel_ her blood as it pumped through her body, she could feel it, the river… it was too torrential before, but now it was abating into a gentle stream.

Sara liked that. It made her happy.

* * *

Her door was already open when he got there, and when he stepped inside, calling her name, he felt only dread. And then he found her, and it hit him like a ton of bricks.

How had he not noticed?

Bruce had thought her eyes did seem a little too bright sometimes, her behavior occasionally erratic and the way she went about as if nothing was wrong in her life. As if the events of her meeting Batman had never taken place. He _knew_ it was strange, and yet… Bruce hadn't completely understood how … how had he not known?

He gathered her up in his arms and into his car.

"Alfred," he said, tapping the line to his butler. "Get a room set up with a respirator. In the first aid kit there should be some Naloxene inside."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Hello all, I live! It has been some time, and now here I am, updating during finals week. Go figure. Sorry for the wait, and I should hope the next chapter arrives sooner than the time it took for this one, but I can make no promises. Thanks to all who left their kind reviews since my last update and if I had time, I would individually reply to them, but alas, I must get back to my studies, so all I have to say is thanks again for reading and being patient with me! :)

And before I forget, from wiki: "Naloxone is a drug used to counter the effects of opioid overdose, for example heroin or morphine overdose." I don't really know much about the specific mechanics of the procedure, but I believe it is often used by EMT to immediately treat OD on ambulances.


End file.
